


Ashes and Dust

by spaze_cat



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Agender Chara, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Determination, F/M, Female Frisk, Gendered Frisk, No Smut, Plot Twists, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, Video Game Mechanics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-05 21:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5391401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaze_cat/pseuds/spaze_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been years since the last reset. Sans had finally had enough, and blasted Chara from existence, managing to separate Frisk and Chara's souls. He trapped her evil counterpart somewhere he was sure they’d never be able to escape, somewhere darker than darkness itself.</p><p>As it turns out, Chara is far more determined than he ever gave them credit for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Chapter 1: Prologue**

"Welp," he said, not for the first time in his memory, but for the first time in this time line. "I'm going to Grillby's."   
  
And then he saw him, and part of him knew it wasn’t real, because he was so close to death and the lines between realities were bending. But he reached out to him anyways, calling his name as a faint chuckle rose from his belly because he realized he actually was hungry.  
  
"Papyrus, do you want anything?"  
  
His brother smiled fondly, but said nothing.  
  
When he collapsed, Papyrus reached out to catch him, but Sans fell through him, never making it into his arms. He felt every atom in his body break apart, and no longer felt the pain of his mortal wound.  
  
Then, not for the first time in his memory, but for the first time in this time line, the remains of his body crumbled, and everything that was once him turned to dust.  
  
\---  
  
Sans woke with a start, gasping for breath he did not technically need. Still, he clutched his bedsheets between his bony fingers, panting and sweating and knowing all too well exactly what was going on.  
  
It wasn't a nightmare. He had been through this enough times to remember it across timelines even without the help of his journals and careful notes.

“Reset,” he muttered to himself.  
  
He quickly grabbed his current journal and scribbled everything he could remember. It was so little, every time. But he wanted to get it all down anyway. No detail was too small.  
  
Sometimes it was Frisk who emerged from the ruins, and sometimes it was _them_. He knew they were different beings, even if they always wore the same body. Frisk was a human, and a gentle one at that. Most of the time, she wouldn't even swing her stick until Asgore gave her no other choice. Others, she was less patient and would occasionally put up a fight to those who stood in her way.  
  
But sometimes, the worst times, she would come out different. Sometimes, she would stare through you as you talked to her, her hands covered in dust. The only emotion you could squeeze out of her was joy, but it was not the same kind of joy as Frisk’s, and it came at the price of pain and death and anguish.  
  
All he could remember about the last timeline was that it had been one of those worst times.  
  
Cursing, he shoved the journal under his pillow and swung his legs out of bed. He covered his eyes with his hands and let himself think.  
  
It wasn't Frisk he wanted to kill. It was the one who rode her body and forced her to turn every living monster in the Underground to dust.  
  
It was the one who killed his brother.  
  
Every. Single. Time.  
  
Reluctantly, he left the warmth of his bed. He shrugged into his favorite jacket and pulled on a pair of shorts. Stepping into his slippers, Sans left the relative comfort of his room.  
  
"Well," he said to himself, "Let's see which one comes out this time."


	2. Stats

**Chapter 2: Stats**

_This time, it was the best one._

\--------

She’d never seen him fight before.

Sans was a pacifist by nature – not because he was scared or weak, but because he was simply too lazy to engage in such a high level of activity.

Even if he wasn’t, there were few monsters in the Underground who needed to be fought. Even the wandering monsters – who attacked anything that moved out of fear – were easily placated. If one only had patience and tenderness in their heart, they could spend their whole life wandering the Underground and never lose HP.

That thought brought Frisk’s mind back to the matter at hand.

She watched Sans as he flipped through channels on the couch, trying to find something remotely worth watching. She sat at the dining table, her hands tucked into her sleeves and pressed tight against her lips. It was colder in Snowdin than usual, but that wasn’t what made her so tense.

Something was coming to the Underground. Something terrible.

She had known it for weeks, but only recently had she started to consider for the first time in a long time that perhaps the things she saw in her nightmares were real.

She didn’t want to worry anyone, so she hadn’t said anything. That didn’t stop Toriel from figuring out something was wrong, of course. _A mother always knows, Frisk_ , she’d said.

But Toriel didn’t know. Not really.

The things she saw in those nightmares were not things to tell children about in spooky campfire stories. They were not things that a warm cup of tea and gentle talk could cure.

Her nightmares were warnings, and it was high time she start preparing for what she knew would come.

“Hey, Sans?” she started gently.

“Hm?” he responded from the couch, not looking away from his channel-surfing.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” he answered. She heard the smirk in his voice.

“I’m serious, Sans.”

“Really? What a coincidence! I’m _comic Sans_!”

“Sans, _please_ ,” she said, and only then did he turn around to look at her.

“Hey, hey,” he said after seeing the look in her eyes. He got up from the couch and came over to her at the table. “What’s wrong? Are my jokes really that painful?”

She couldn’t help but give him a small chuckle for that one. He beamed briefly, before sitting down next to her, watching her carefully.

“What’s bothering you, Frisk?”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” she said, unable to look in his eyes as she told her blatant lie. “I just need to know something.”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug.

“What are your Stats?” she asked. He blinked, pausing for a moment to consider her question.

“Oh, right,” he said, “You’ve never seen me fight before, have you? They’re pretty low I guess. Why do you ask?”

“ _How_ low?” she asked. She felt cold fear run through her veins _. I need to know_ , she told herself _. I need to be prepared._

“As low as they get,” he boasted, huffing out his chest like it was a good thing. Meanwhile, Frisk was trying not to let him see her panic. “All 1’s.”

 _1’s?!_ She shouldn’t have been too surprised, but it was such a startlingly low number, even for someone like Sans. He wasn’t the type to train, nor the type to go about killing to gain LV, but surely there’d been _something_ in his life to give him EXP? _Something_ to raise his Stats? Even at her LV of 1, kept low due to her determination to find a peaceful approach to every situation, her base Stats were 10’s.

How was he going to survive this?

“Frisk, you’ve got that look aga-”

“All 1’s?” she said, voice barely above a whisper though she felt like screaming. “How could _you_ , of all monsters, have 1’s?”

“Now, now, don’t get all worked up-”

“I could kill you if I pushed you over too hard,” she said, the fear now evident in her voice. She covered her eyes with her hands. “How could you be so _fragile_?”

“Hey!” he cut in, feigning offense, “I may be fragile, but what I lack in strength I make up for with power. You could try to push me over, but trying wouldn’t get you very far.”

“Power?” Frisk managed, peering up at him through her fingers.

Sans gave her an odd look.

“You… really haven’t seen me fight before?” he asked. “Ever?”

“Why would I?” she asked. “The only monsters I ever saw in action were the ones that tried to keep me from finding a way back to the surface all those years ago. From the moment I met you, you made it clear you had no interest in capturing me.” She paused. “Or killing me.”

The look he gave her was confusing. Did he not believe her?

“Why’d you want to know my Stats anyway, Frisk?” he asked after a moment, looking away.

She knew she had to tell him, for multiple reasons. For one, he had a way of knowing things were going to happen before they did. Sometimes he even answered her thoughts before they could pass her lips. If he really did have some kind of specialized magic, he might know what to do.

“I’ve been having nightmares again,” she said. His eyebrows pulled together, tense. “And this time, I don’t think that’s all they are.”

He was also the only one who would take her seriously (the irony was not lost on her), and she was in sore need of someone other than herself to believe in her.

“Something’s coming, Sans,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze, “Something very, very bad.”

He was silent. A bit taken aback because she’d expected another lighthearted joke, she studied him. His hands were tucked in his jacket pockets and he leaned against the table casually, but the usual light in his eyes was dim, revealing just how uneased he really was.

“I don’t know what it is,” she said truthfully. “I wanted to know your Stats because I thought it would make me feel better. Maybe, if I knew who could fight and who couldn’t, I could make sure everyone was safe. I could protect them.”

“You know that’s not how it works,” he said quietly.

“There’s always a way to make things work,” she countered gently.

He smiled a sad, soft smile.

“Boy, you humans really are chocked full of that determination stuff, aren’t ya?” he asked.

She smiled, but didn’t answer.

“My Stats are low,” he said finally. “But Stats aren’t everything down here. I thought you knew that already, _human_.”

He winked at her when she glared at the nickname. She only let Papyrus call her that and Sans knew it.

“I know they aren’t everything,” she said indignantly.

“Then why are you so worried?” he asked, raising his bony eyebrows.

“I just…” she started, then stopped herself. She had to make him understand. “I’m not talking about a bad day here, Sans. Hell, I’m not even talking about a cave-in or some kind of underground avalanche. It feels like…” She trailed off. She didn’t want to scare him, but at the look in his eyes she felt her words almost pulled from her throat. “It feels like Flowey.”

Blue energy jolted to life in his left eye. Frisk jumped slightly in surprise. She hadn’t seen him fight, but she had seen _that_ before. It usually signaled the used of his magic.

“ _What_ felt like Flowey?” said Sans with such a low, dark voice that she felt her very soul tremble.

“The nightmares,” she reminded him carefully. “I’ve been having nightmares, Sans. And in them…”

The blue sparks were extinguished, replaced by the dim pinpricks of his pupils. His face softened.

“It’s Flowey,” she continued, “But it’s _not_. It’s like it’s a part of him, but not the whole thing.”

She bit her lip, frustrated that she couldn’t explain the feeling.

“What happens in those nightmares, Frisk?” he asked. Gentle, understanding because he’d had his own share of nightmares, she knew. But there was also a carefulness to his voice, like he was waiting for her to tell him devastating news.

“Pain,” she said, trying not to look as scared as she felt. “Anguish. Death.”

The faint lights in his eyes constricted, his gaze locked onto her like he thought she was going to do something to him. She’d seen him give her that look before, and it killed her knowing that he didn’t trust her, not entirely, and yet not knowing why.

“And dust,” she finished quietly, tears gathering in her eyes. “So much dust…”

One look at Sans told her he hadn’t the slightest idea of what to say to her. She didn’t blame him.

“You have to believe me, Sans,” she begged. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I do believe you,” he said. “But you have to tell me exactly what you saw in those nightmares. You’ve gotta tell me what we’re up against here.”

She figured she would. She’d already dissected them in the hopes of figuring that out herself.

She nodded, and in the otherwise peaceful quiet of the skeleton brothers’ home, she gave him every detail.

\--------

_It’s dark in here._

_You feel nothing._

_You’re not even sure you’re alive._

_Maybe you’re not._

_Somehow, that thought comforts you._

_A sound._

_You’re not alone._

_You can feel again._

_You feel pain._

_The screams begin._

_You are covered in dust._

_They beg for MERCY._

_…_

_You cannot find MERCY._

_Someone laughs._

_“This is fun, Frisk.”_

_“No, it’s not.”_

_“Heh…”_

_“…”_

_“Do you know what the best part is?”_

_“…”_

_“I don’t need you to have a good time.”_

_“…”_

_“See you soon.”_

\--------

The rest of her nightmares were filled with conversations of similar caliber.

“We have to go,” said Sans. His eye sparked with blue electricity as he pulled her jacket over to the table with his magic.

Frisk stared at him. He handed her the jacket and headed for the door.

“Sans, I-”

“I know a shortcut,” he said, grabbing her hand. He pulled her closer to his body as he prepared to jump.

“Wait, what’re you-”

“Hold on.”

She gripped him tight as the world shifted around her, time and space warping at the hands of his powerful magic. Frisk was speechless. He hadn’t jumped with her since she was a child.

The world spun around her, and for the tiniest of moments, everything that was them collided. She could hear his thoughts as if they were her own.

_the_

_anomaly_

_has_

_escaped_

 

 


	3. Them

**Chapter 3: Them**

They were outside, surrounded by evergreens and snow.

Sans gently let Frisk go and spun around to scan the trees, making sure they were alone.

“Wh-what…” Frisk fell to one knee, her bare hands digging into the snow to hold her up.

“Ah geez,” he said, bending to help her up. “Are you alright, Frisk?”

“I-I’d be much better if I knew what the heck was going on,” she said.

Sans considered telling her. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to – especially now more than ever – but it was a long story to tell, and from what she’d said happened in her nightmares, they didn’t have that kind of time.

He took another look around. He no longer felt the anomaly watching them, but he was still pretty shaken.

It was _them_. It had to be.

But how? He’d managed to shove their sorry excuse for a soul into the darkest depths of the VOID _years_ ago. After all these years, had they finally managed to fix their corrupted SAVE file? Even Gaster couldn’t do that. Were they really so determined?

“Sans?”

He looked at her, and found she was much closer than he expected. He felt a slight surge of his magic gathering around his cheekbones, just under his eyes. He rubbed at the faint glow, furious for blushing at a time like this.

“What’s going on?” she asked, seemingly ignorant to his embarrassment. “Why did you take me here?”

“We needed to get out of the house,” he said. “I could feel them watching us.”

“Who?”

Sans frowned.

“The person from your nightmares.”

He watched sadly as the color drained from Frisk’s face, and felt terrible for being the one that did that to her. He knew it had to be done, though it didn’t make him feel any better. It was clear now that she really didn’t remember any of the past timelines, not even the ones where it really was her that stepped out of that door.

So he would have to be the one to tell her about the anomaly, and by proxy, the things that anomaly made her do.

“They’re real,” Frisk said, quiet.

It wasn’t a question. It was hardly a statement. It was like she was trying to get herself to believe it even though she already knew.

“Yeah,” he said, scratching the back of his head as she took it in.

“I was right,” she said, “They weren’t just nightmares…”

“Frisk-”

“Who are they, Sans?” Frisk asked, and he noted with surprise that she had already moved past the shellshock and seemed determined as ever. “What are they going to do?”

“I think you know the answer to that already, Frisk.”

Sans whirled around at the familiar voice, summoning three Gaster Blasters. He caught movement in his peripheral and didn’t even hesitate to send a wave of pure energy directly at it. The shot flew into one of the trees, and it burst into fragments of burning wood, leaving a smoking hole that cut right through its trunk. They had been standing there just moments before. He could have _sworn_ they were right there…

“ _Dirty brother-killer!_ ” he screamed, scanning for any signs of life, more than ready to blast the filthy creature into another timeline.

“Now, now, let’s not be too hasty,” they said. From the right this time. He spun on his heel and sent another attack that melted a hole in a massive boulder. Not there either.

Sans would have kept attacking anything that moved if it weren’t for Frisk’s voice cutting through the air.

“Sans, stop it!” she yelled, finally breaking him out of his tunnel vision. He turned to see her crouched behind one of his Blasters, which seemed to be defying his orders to attack and was instead using its body to shield Frisk.

“You should listen to the girl, Sans,” said the anomaly. This time, he saw them, standing about fifteen feet in front of him, casually leaning against a tree.

They wore a green and yellow turtleneck sweater and brown pants that fell to their ankles. At first glance, they could have been Frisk, but he spared her more than a quick glance. He was confused, and horrified that they’d managed to escape the VOID, and he wasn’t about to let them off without memorizing every detail of their face so that when they killed him this time, he wouldn’t have the capacity to forget.

Their hair was darker than Frisk’s, though it was cut just as short and uneven. Instead of falling in waves and gentle curls around their face and shoulders, it stuck out at weird angles, matted and tangled and frayed. Everything about them was as sharp as her knife, from their cheek bones and the bridge of their nose, right down to their jawline.

And of course, they had those blood red eyes that were devoid of life and filled with LOVE.

“She’s the only one between us who has any MERCY left,” they said, “And I know how much you value MERCY.”

The anomaly chuckled, and it was like swallowing shards of glass.

“Besides, you might want to listen to what I have to say.”

“That, I can do without,” he said, narrowing his eyes. He raised his arm and summoned ivory bones that burst from the ground. They dodged it easily, as they had countless times before, but he knew how to fight this fight. Hit them until you take them down, or die trying.

“Call off your mutts,” they said through their smile, “And maybe I’ll tell you how I got out.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” he countered, his Blasters growling low from behind him. He sent another hoard of broken, jagged bones soaring at them from all angles. They danced around the attacks like they were having fun, but strangely, they didn’t attack.

“Maybe it’s why I’m here in the first place,” they said, her smile dripping with poison.

He knew they weren’t to be trusted. He also knew that it had been years since the last reset, and if that’s what the anomaly was planning, he wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

“Oh please, Sans, if I was going to kill you I would have done it by now. I mean, you feel it, don’t you? The difference between what I used to be and what I am now?”

He did. Excluding the fact that they had their own body now – which, he considered, was a pretty huge fact to exclude – they seemed to be able to teleport now. Sans was no sharp-shooter, but even a blind man could hit a target if he had a big enough bullet, and the energy beams his Blasters shot were as big as they came.

“Don’t you want to know, Sans?” they taunted with a nasty smirk. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

“Not really,” he said with a shrug, but he called off his Blasters anyway. Probably a bad idea, but they took more energy to wield, and his bone attacks were much quicker. He’d rather have speed than power on his side considering their newfound powers.

Two of his Blasters disappeared at once, and the third turned to give Frisk an affectionate nuzzle before doing the same, much to her delight. Even now, while under attack and facing death, Frisk found the time to smile.

“There’s no need for lies, Sans,” said the anomaly. “I mean, you nearly got yourself killed _for good_ trying to take me down, and I’ll admit you had me stumped for a while…”

In a flash they were by his side, confirming his hypothesis. They’d hit the books during their little trip to the void.

“But I’m back now,” they said, staring right into his eyes, as if to show off how unafraid they were. “With a brand spankin’ new SAVE file.”

“Good,” he said with a smile. “I was starting to get a little _bone_ -ly without a homicidal maniac to hunt down.”

“Still making terrible jokes, I see,” they said flatly, their eyes narrowed at his pun. It was pretty satisfying, seeing the creature displeased with just a few easy words.

Sans heard Frisk crunching through the snow as she walked over to them.

“Nice to see you again, Frisk,” said the anomaly. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“I’ve never seen you before,” she said. She looked nervous, but when she came to stand beside him, he noted the way her arm gently fell in front of his, keeping him slightly behind her. It was as natural as breathing for her, the desire to keep her friends safe.

“I suppose you wouldn’t recognize me, after what Sans did,” the anomaly replied. Their face began to morph, their smile growing impossibly wide and twisted, teeth sharp as fangs, and their eyes rotting in their sockets. Frisk gulped, but held her ground. “But I will make you remember.”

“Remember what?” Frisk asked breathlessly. Now was probably a good time to intervene.

“Don’t let the anomaly play with your mind, kid,” he said to Frisk, glaring at her evil counterpart’s demonic face. “They get off on it. They’re kind of a _freak_.”

“The _anomaly_.” The face contorted once more, the dark red pupils of their black, decayed eyes turned to him like loaded guns. “Is that what you call me? Really, Sans, after all the fun we’ve had together, you didn’t take the time to learn my name?”

“Oh, I called you plenty of names, alright,” replied Sans, unable to keep the smirk off his face.

“What _is_ your name?” asked Frisk.

The anomaly was just as surprised as Sans at the question. Frisk didn’t remember who the anomaly was or what they did, but from what she told him about her nightmares, she had to know just how evil the creature before them was. How easy it would be for them to kill them both in a thousand ways.

And she wanted to know their name?

“My _name_ ,” responded the anomaly, their voice turning cruel. “You self-righteous, moronic, useless bag of meat, is _Chara_.”

A sharp flash of red engulfed Frisk. Before Sans could react, Chara raised their arm skyward and thrust it to their left, knocking Frisk off her feet and flinging her back-first into a nearby tree. Sans heard a sickening crunch as she landed against the solid trunk and slid to the ground.

“Frisk!” he shouted, summoning his bone attack. But this time, Chara was ready. In another flash of sickly red, he found himself pinned to the ground, thrashing against the force of their magic.

“This isn’t about her anymore, Sans,” they snarled. “With your help, I’ve destroyed the middle-man. Now, I won’t have to fight the both of you at once. Now, the _real_ battle begins.”

Sans felt like he was going to have a bad time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't forget to leave a comment, guys. Feedback is highly appreciated!


	4. Remember?

**Chapter 4: Remember?**

“L-leave him alone…”

Frisk picked herself up from the snowy ground, clutching her stomach in pain. Chara glared at her and raised their arm again, gripping Frisk with a surge of angry, red magic. It was freezing cold, like being held by an icy hand. Chara yanked her closer until she was inches from their face.

“I remember you,” they snarled. “Even if you don’t remember me. You tried to slow me down, to make me hesitate. You dug your heels in and begged for me to spare your friends. You sobbed over their remains like the pathetic worm you are.”

Frisk saw little black spots swim in her vision, the pain becoming too much. She fought the threat of blacking out, terrified to leave Chara alone with Sans. They said they wouldn’t kill him, but Frisk wasn’t so sure.

“And the entire time,” Chara all but growled, “You thought you were better than me.”

“I…” Frisk managed to choke out, “I’ve done nothing to you…”

“You made me _weak_!” Chara shouted, the red pupils in their eyes morphing from circles to jagged shapes that reminded Frisk of stars. They were like snowflakes, she realized. Their magic was red in color, but cold in nature.

Like bloody ice.

“I-I didn’t-”

“But you _did_!” they screamed. Then, the twisted smile returned to their face. Their voice became very calm, low and raspy. “Don’t you remember the dust?”

“Chara!” Sans cried from beside them. “Don’t you _dare_ -”

“All the expressions they made?” Chara continued, ignoring him. Frisk tried to turn away, to look down to see if Sans was okay, but Chara held her face so that she couldn’t. “My favorite was the way the knife sounded as it stabbed into their flesh. Monsters can bleed, you know. But not like us. Not like humans.”

“You’re no human,” Sans practically growled. She’d never heard him so angry before.

“Sans…” Frisk tried. She didn’t want to make Chara any angrier than they already were. Frisk had gone her whole life using MERCY, and she wasn’t about to stop now.

“They bleed grey,” Chara continued, staring deep into her eyes. “Do you remember? They bleed grey, and when they die, their blood dries up, and it turns to dust, along with the rest of them. It’s… _fascinating_.”

Frisk cried out in pain as her head flooded with images from her nightmares.

\--------

_Your hand grips the handle of your toy knife as you swipe at the Froggit._

_The toy knife drags into their flesh and they cry out in pain._

_The look of horror on their face turns something in your gut, making you sick._

_Grey blood spills from the gash as their eyelids twitch, drooping as the life bleeds out of them._

_They stare at you, shaking as they lie there, dying._

_Until finally._

_With one last gasp._

_They let go._

_The monster blood on your hands thickens._

_It becomes powdery._

_It sifts between your fingertips._

_…_

_Your first kill._

\--------

“Wasn’t it _fun_?” Chara smiled, and Frisk choked back a sob.

“W-why did I do that?” she heard herself say. The icy magic surrounding her dug past her clothes, chilling her, stealing her warmth.

“ _We_ did that,” Chara corrected. “ _Together_.”

“I didn’t want to,” said Frisk, tears trickling from her eyes. Chara moved closer, and the tears froze on her cheeks.

“That didn’t stop us,” they said, their voice low and cruel. “Besides, that was nothing compared to what we did to Toriel. Wretched beast tried to keep us from leaving the ruins. You know, despite how many times we reset, she never changed. She thought we were so innocent, up until we gutted her open.”

“No!” Frisk screamed, trying to block the memories from flooding back, but she was powerless.

\--------

_Her fire magic is not hard to dodge. She doesn’t want to fight you._

_Your hand moves without your permission._

_You attack._

_She bleeds._

_Her blood soaks into her clothes, staining her tunic._

_The look she gives you in enough to make you feel like the juice that gathers at the bottom of a dumpster._

_You couldn’t stop this._

_You are pathetic._

_“Y-you really hate me that much?”_

_You bang fists against the inner walls of your skull, but your body doesn’t move._

_You want to tell her you don’t hate her, that you’re sorry. You scream it from the back of your mind._

_…_

_Toriel does not hear you._

_“Now I see who I was protecting by keeping you here. Not you… but them!”_

_She’s right, and it kills you inside._

_Toriel falls to her knees, clutching her wound and smiling through the pain._

_“Ha… ha…”_

_You sob, wishing for death so that you would stop killing._

_The voice laughs._

_Real tears begin to stream down your face._

_You cannot move, but you can make your body cry._

_The voice stops laughing._

_Toriel turns to dust._

\--------

“We killed everyone, Frisk,” Chara said, their smile so enthusiastic and genuinely happy it made Frisk sick. Chara’s magic let her go as she fell to her knees and retched. “And when we were done, we’d do it all over again.”

Frisk curled into herself, clutching her midsection. She shook as memory after memory flashed before her eyes, every single time she killed one of her friends. And it wasn’t just them. She’d killed every single monster in the Underground, over and over again, until there was nothing left alive. Wherever she went, a trail of pain, anguish, and death.

“Frisk, look at me.”

She lifted her head and saw Sans, still pinned down by Chara’s cold magic, watching her intently.

“That wasn’t you, Frisk,” he said, “None of it. Believe me, I could tell.”

He could tell, because he’d been there too.

She _had_ seen him fight before.

“I told you Stats aren’t everything,” he said through a weak smile.

“I killed you,” she said, remembering the golden hall. The blood… but his blood was _different_. His blood was _red_. “I’ve killed you so many times.”

“Not as many as I’ve killed you,” he said with a small smile, attempting to make her feel better. He turned to smirk up at Chara. “I didn’t make it easy for them.”

“Neither of you did,” Chara intervened. With a flick of their wrist, the red magic disappeared. Sans was released. He stood up and rushed over to Frisk. “But that was what made it fun.”

Chara smirked, their eyes rotting once more in their sockets, oozing black liquid that ran down their face like twisted tears of joy. Frisk shivered, clinging to Sans’ jacket just like she did when she was a kid.

“Seeing the both of you _try_.”

\--------

This was bad.

Sans could tell Frisk was hanging on by a thread. She was probably only being kept awake by whatever horrors Chara planted into her head.

He had to get her to Toriel. She was much better at healing magic than he ever was.

He couldn’t begin to imagine the kind of internal damage she might have sustained when Chara threw her at the solid trunk of that tree. Not to mention the psychological damage. What she needed right now was her mother.

And he needed to get her there.

“Cut to the chase, _anomaly_ ,” he said, “If you’re not here to kill me, what are you doing here?”

Chara smiled, their face returning to what Sans assumed was “normal.” their feet crunched through the snow as they began to circle him. A knife materialized in their hand as they walked and they began to play with it.

“I had a lot of time to think in the void, Sans,” they began.

 _Oh great_ , he thought. _A monologue._

“A lot of time to concentrate my determination,” they continued, their eyes tracing the edge of their knife. “To ensure that when I escaped, I would make every single one of your lives miserable.” They pointed their knife at him. “I’m going to kill everyone you’ve ever loved.”

“You’ve done that hundreds of times,” he spat at them, “I thought your field trip to the VOID would’ve left you more _creative_ than that.”

Chara smiled.

“I won’t kill them like you’re used to,” they said, unaffected by his taunt. “I’m going to make them suffer, Sans. I’m going to take my time. You won’t know who it’ll be, you won’t know when I’ll do it. It could take days, or weeks, before I kill again.”

Sans felt his eye burn with magic, felt his soul ignite in fury. Chara smiled, seeing the effect their words had on him. It was just what they wanted, to see him break.

“And when I’ve taken everything from you,” they continued, black goo dripping down their cheeks from their eyes, their smile twisting to an impossible, almost cartoonish shape, “When I’ve broken whatever remains of your resolve, I’ll kill you. And then I’ll reset, and I’ll do it all over again.”

“I’m not going to let that happen,” he said, “Don’t you remember? I’m done sitting by and watching you tear my world apart.”

“Sans…”

The frail voice came from below him. He looked down at Frisk, who was knelt in the snow, clinging to his jacket like it was the only thing holding her up.

“Don’t… fight them…” Frisk said through gritted teeth. He could feel the pain she was in radiating off of her like some kind of heat. Chara threw her at a tree, and Frisk was asking him to spare them. Sans was lost for a moment, until he remembered what Chara had said earlier.

_She’s the only one between us who has any MERCY left._

“You know,” said Chara in a bored voice as they rolled their eyes. “That playing-the-hero thing gets old real fast.”

“And playing-the-homicidal-maniac doesn’t?” Sans countered, watching Chara’s knife as it twisted and twirled in their well-practiced hands.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” they said with a wink. “Anyway, about that whole ‘I won’t let you get away with this’ thing, you don’t seriously think this is the first time we’ve had this conversation, do you?”

They smiled at the look on his face.

“See you around, Sans.”

Chara was gone in the blink of an eye. For all he knew, they were already slaughtering any number of monsters in the Underground.

They were back, and they were _angry_. Sans wasn’t lying when he said he’d seen them kill his friends hundreds of times, but that didn’t mean he ever got used to it.

He’d gotten used to the resets. He’d never gotten used to seeing his brother reduced to dust.

Trembling, Sans shifted his gaze down to Frisk. She was barely conscious now, tears falling in a steady stream from her wide and staring eyes.

_Get her to Toriel._

In one swift motion, he swooped down and gathered her in his arms. Her head found his chest and her right arm reached up to hold onto the sweater beneath his jacket. He held her arms and legs close to him as he teleported.

One second he was walking through Snowdin. The next, he was in Toriel’s home in the ruins, walking down a hallway that led into her living room.

She noticed him immediately. She closed the book she was reading and stood.

“What on Earth-?” she began, but when she noticed who he was holding, a paw flew to her opened mouth. “Oh no…”

“She’s hurt bad, Tori,” he said quickly. He didn’t want to let her launch into a sea of questions just yet. “Where do I put her?”

“T-the bedroom,” she said, but when Sans moved to take Frisk there, Toriel stopped him. “Wait, please Sans. Allow me…”

He carefully handed her over to Toriel. Frisk stirred at the change, opening her heavy-lidded eyes to look up at her mother.

“M-mommy…” she whimpered, beginning to cry. She buried her face against Toriel as her body racked with sobs.

Sans looked away, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment. He’d heard her call Toriel her mother before, but he’d never once, in all of his resets and timelines, heard Frisk sound so _broken_.

“It is okay, my child,” said Toriel as she carried Frisk into her bedroom. “You are safe now.”

Sans frowned, his own tears threatening to spill over, but they were tears of frustration and anger, not fear and sorrow. After all of his fighting, after all of these years of peace, the anomaly had dragged themself out of the void just to spite him, to continue right where they left off.

Unless he found a way to stop Chara, for good this time, Toriel’s words would be lies.


	5. Human

**Chapter 5: Human**

Sans leaned against the door frame and watched as Toriel worked.

Her paws hovered a few inches above Frisk’s body, sweeping back and forth slowly, her silver magic radiating from her open palms. He could feel Toriel’s motherly love for Frisk from here, could sense it in every pulse of her magic.

That was the thing about magic; the stronger your emotions, the stronger your magical power. For example, Sans was most powerful when fighting Chara, and Toriel was most powerful when taking care of those she loved dearly.

That was one of the many worrying things about Chara’s magic. It was red like human blood, but it radiated so much seething hatred that he was sure even Frisk could feel the chill. Not only did their newfound possession of magic give them more power than they already had, but it confirmed an old hypothesis of Gaster’s.

With enough determination, even a human can wield magic.

The thought was even more horrifying now than it was back then. Chara was so ruthless that they could scarcely be considered a human in the first place. Countless times, they’d killed everyone they could reach with a toy knife and their bare hands. Now, they could teleport and toss people around like ragdolls.

How the hell was he going to defeat them this time?

“You will tell me what happened.”

Sans looked up at the voice. Toriel was focused on her work, her eyes watching every careful movement of her paws. Sans had tried healing magic a few times, but could never really grasp it. It took far more concentration and energy than he was willing to exert.

“I will,” he answered, though he knew Toriel wasn’t asking so much as commanding him. “But not right now. You need the focus. Heal her first, then we’ll talk.”

“Very well,” she said, and it was silent again.

Sans stared at Frisk’s sleeping face, focusing on the way her eyebrows were knit tightly together, and her mouth pulled into a frown. He sighed and turned, headed for Toriel’s living room. He couldn’t watch her suffer through a nightmare knowing he couldn’t help her.

He wanted to leave, to teleport himself back home so he could make sure Paps was alright, but he knew his brother was in just as much danger as Frisk and Toriel were, as anyone in the Underground was. He wished he could keep everyone safe at the same time, but there were limits to his magic. Though he could make it _look_ like he was in two places at once, it was just a teleportation trick.

Besides, even if Chara did kill everyone, they would just reset to do it all over again, and everyone would be brought back to life.

He hated that he thought of things that way, but he knew it was true. He’d learned long ago not to cling to any particular timeline, good or bad, because one day he’d wake up and everything would be back to how it was.

He’d lived and died a thousand times. He’d watched silently as Chara tore the Underground apart and put it back together time and time again. This time, they were just a bit more sadistic than usual. It really couldn’t be all that different.

He told himself he was used to it, that knowing what would happen didn’t hurt him anymore.

He wanted to break something, to send it flying through the air with his magic and smash it into a million pieces. He’d wait until he was far from precious household items before doing that, though. He opted instead to slump against a wall and bury his face in his knees.

Now, because it was different, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand for it. He couldn’t just let Chara have their way again, or he’d sink back to the bottomless pit of depression and self-loathing just like he had all those years ago.

He couldn’t let them take everything away from him again. Not when he’d come so far.

After a few more minutes, Toriel quietly walked into the room.

“She is much better now,” she said, wringing her paws together slightly to rub off any residual magic. Without saying anything else, she took her seat by the fire and looked at him expectantly. Her look asked the question for her.

Sans almost smiled. After all this time, she was still very much a queen.

But the thought of telling her what happened was suddenly very upsetting. He’d been so bothered by the fact that Chara was back that he hadn’t given any thought to how he was supposed to explain that to Toriel. Chara was her child, after all, just like Asriel.

Just like Frisk.

How was he supposed to tell Toriel that her long-deceased child, whom she had loved as much as her own son, whom she had _mourned_ for, was the barely human creature that had killed her, Frisk, and everyone else in the Underground over and over again?

“Well… she was attacked,” he said. When he hesitated to say anything else, Toriel narrowed her eyes.

“I had guessed as much, Sans,” she said darkly, “You brought my daughter to me covered in bruises and cuts. If I had assumed you were the reason she was hurt, you would not be standing here before me now.”

Sans blinked, feeling himself shrink against one of the walls. He’d faced Chara’s murderous intent plenty of times, but in his experience, when it came to mothers protecting their children, they were not to be messed with.

“Who attacked Frisk?” Toriel asked. “And what…”

Here she paused, the strength in her eyes faltering.

“… What did they do to her?” she finished quietly.

“They um… threw her into a tree.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

Sans frowned. He knew what she meant.

“That’s a long and complicated story,” he said finally, staring down at his slippers.

“I have the time.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, meeting her eyes. “None of us do. Listen, Tori. All I can tell you right now is that a long time ago, something really bad came down here, attacking us… killing us. I managed to stop them, but I guess my solution wasn’t permanent.”

Toriel seemed to be following his words but not processing them. He sighed, knowing it was too much but also knowing that if he didn’t offer any explanation, she was even more vulnerable than she was now.

“The thing that attacked the Underground all those years ago,” said Sans, “It’s back now. No one is safe anymore.”

Toriel stared blankly at him for a moment, her eyebrows raised in shock.

“I-I don’t understand,” she said. “How-”

“I know you don’t get it,” he said, “I know you have questions Tori, but you have to trust me. Just like you trusted me to keep your promise. I didn’t hurt the human that came out of the door, just like you asked. I made sure they were safe, remember?”

“Y-yes…”

“And that’s what I’m doing now,” he said. “I’m trying to keep her safe. To keep us all safe. That’s why I’m warning you about the ano-... about the creature.”

“W-what kind of creature is it?” she asked.

“Heh,” he chuckled sadly, looking down the hallway at Frisk’s bedroom door. “It’s a human.”

Toriel gasped, but he was quick to explain.

“Not entirely, anyways,” he said. “They’re… kinda soulless now.”

He met her eyes, knowing it wouldn’t be right to tell her any other way.

“It’s Chara,” he said.

Toriel was still. She was so still Sans wondered if Gaster would appear, revealing he had stopped time to tell Sans something. He’d done so plenty of times before, mostly because he didn’t want to frighten anyone with his appearance, even though Sans had told him plenty of times that he didn’t look that scary.

But then her eyes moved, turning down and away. Her body followed with them, and she curled into herself, trying to keep herself together.

It was a lot for Toriel to take in, but Chara had given him no other choice. He had to be honest if he wanted the Underground to stand a chance against her.

That wasn’t all of the story, of course. There was so much more to tell, but it was all she needed to hear right now, and probably all she could take. He’d gone his whole life keeping these kinds of secrets, and now was no exception, but he could still spare some details.

Sans stood up to go check on Frisk, but Toriel stopped him.

“If the… _creature_ you speak of has hurt people,” she said, her voice shaking, “Then it is not my Chara.”

Sans didn’t have anything to say to that. Knowing better than to offer pity, Sans turned and continued down the hall.

000

Frisk stared up at the ceiling of her room, her mind so full of running thoughts that she couldn’t focus on any of them. It left her feeling numb, lost.

She had so many questions, and while her mind had most of the answers, it was hard matching them up.

What she could process were the memories of past timelines, the ones she didn’t even know she had. She let her thoughts flow over them, knowing that if she bottled everything up it would only hurt her and those around her later on.

Tears ran silently down her face and she killed her mother, her father, her best friends. She took Undyne away from Alphys and Papyrus away from Sans.

There were happy memories too. Chara had made her remember everything, after all, and Frisk knew that without the good memories, she would have spent the rest of her life a broken shell of who she once was.

She smiled when she had her date with Papyrus, when she made spaghetti with Undyne that was so intense it burned her house to the ground. She helped RG01 confess to RG02, and if she managed to live on a year or so before the next reset, she got to see them get married.

Some of her memories were horrific, but there were still too many nice ones for Frisk to feel too defeated.

She would be fine.

She finally turned to lie on her side, and noticed Sans standing in her open doorway. He looked just as mentally exhausted as she felt. When they locked eyes, he walked over to her.

“How’re you feeling, kiddo?”

_He is a pile of dust at your feet._

“Fine,” she said.

_His blue sweater shimmers with little pieces of him._

“I’m fine,” she said again, like it wasn’t enough.

_The last of his magic fades, blue light extinguishing._

“I’m…” she tried again, choking back a sob.

_Your last kill._

“… Fine,” she coughed out, refusing to cry.

“No, you’re not,” said Sans. He didn’t sound like he was pitying her, but like he knew what she was feeling.

Like he’d felt it too.

Before she even knew what she was doing, her arms were around his shoulders. She sobbed hard into his jacket, her whole body shaking with the force of her grief. After a few moments, his arms carefully wrapped around her.

She refused to let go – even though he was probably very uncomfortable – because she needed him. It was selfish, she knew, but she _needed_ him because he was probably the only other person in the Underground who knew about resets, who knew what it was like to lose everyone.

Though even he couldn’t know what it was like to be the one that killed them.

When Frisk had run out of tears, she didn’t let go, so neither did Sans. They held each other for a while, the only sound between them her quiet sniffling. It should have been embarrassing, _appalling_ that she was hugging Sans like this, keeping him pressed so close to her body, but it was the only thing keeping her from her terrible thoughts, so she didn’t dare to let go.

“What are we going to do, Sans?” she asked. She sounded like a child again.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he said lightly. His breath was warm against the top of her head. “After all, you’re the smartest human I know.”

“I’m the _only_ human you know,” she said with a smile.

And then the thought hit them both. She could see the thought flickering through his mind because it showed in the way his pupils dimmed, constricted.

Frisk wasn’t the only human Sans knew.

He knew Chara.

“Yes you are,” he said quietly, and she knew the subject was dropped.

But for all the things Chara had made her do, for all the lives they destroyed, Frisk knew it wasn’t true. Chara _was_ human, they were just lost. They didn’t have their soul, and without the very culmination of your being, the mind left behind has no other option but to rot in its own existence.

Without love and compassion, the only things left are rage and pain.

They were just like Flowey.

Tears still drying on her cheeks, Frisk decided that no matter how bad it got, she would find a way to help them.

\--------

_The thought of saving Chara fills you with determination._


	6. Divide

**Chapter 6: Divide**

A week went by – _a whole week_ – and nothing.

Sans knew they were doing this on purpose, toying with them like they were just players in their sick game. They’d even suggested that this wasn’t their first reset back from the VOID, that they’d already been through it all before.

If he knew anything about Chara, he’d guess that this wasn’t their first time, and that on their first run, they’d let out much of their pent up rage by killing everyone quickly and brutally (though it worried him that he couldn’t find any notes about these resets in his journals). They probably got bored with that, and decided to try something a bit more… _torturous_.

It was working.

He hated it.

He should have just killed Chara a week ago when he had the chance. Yeah, Frisk was in trouble, but if she died from her injuries she could have just reset the timeline anyways. Then at least they might not be here, hiding in Asgore’s castle because it was past curfew and it’s not like anyone wanted to leave these walls anyways.

A week ago, after making a quick stop to check on Paps, Sans had teleported to the capital to speak to Asgore himself. He told the king what was going on, leaving out pretty much everything except what he needed to know in order to take action; that one of his children was out to kill everyone in the Underground.

Asgore had taken it a bit better than Toriel, but the two had suffered great losses in the past. They were used to dealing with pain.

The king had ordered everyone in the Underground to take refuge in his own home. It was certainly big enough to house everyone, and though it was icy cold and made of hard stone walls, it was built for defense.

Sans knew he should be happy – everyone was safe, after all – but he _wasn’t_.

To him, this was a temporary solution. It might keep them safe for a while, but Chara wasn’t going to be stopped by a few stone walls. They were fast, strong, cunning, and now they were armed with far more than a knife.

He should be out there, looking for them, but he was here instead.

Hiding like a coward from the anomaly.

He _hated_ it.

He sat by a window at the end of a long hallway. It was low to the ground and glassless, small enough so no one could accidentally fall out of it, but large enough to feel fresh air on his bones.

The view wasn’t half bad either.

“Tired?”

Sans looked up at Frisk. She stood a few feet beside him, her arms holding her blanket tightly around her.

Strangely, it was even colder here than in Snowdin. He wasn’t too sure why Asgore kept his home so icy – though it probably had something to do with his thick fur – but he’d warmed it up considerably since the whole of the Underground had moved in. Still too cold for Frisk, he guessed – it probably had something to do with the lack of fur – so Asgore had given her the blanket.

“Not really,” he said, suppressing a yawn. “I’m guessing you’re not either?”

“I’m exhausted,” she said simply, sitting beside him. He chuckled softly, and they fell into a comfortable silence.

They sat by the window for a while, gazing quietly out onto the capital.

“You know it isn’t your watch,” she said softly. “There’s still an hour.”

“Wouldn’t want to miss anything,” he said, not taking his eyes from the view.

“Sans…” she began.

“Frisk…” he mocked.

“You need to sleep,” she said, watching him sternly. “You can’t fight Chara if you’re-”

“ _Bone_ tired?” he quipped, resting his head on his chin and grinning at her. She didn’t seem amused, or at least she was hiding it very well. “Come on, I’ve done it before.”

“And look how well that went,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

Well, he had to give that one to her. In an earlier timeline that line might’ve stung, but he’d gotten over dying after about the hundredth reset. Frisk continued.

“They’re more powerful than both of us combined, Sans. You’re not doing any of us a favor by overworking yourself. Well, except Chara. You’re making it easy for them, which is bad for us because-”

“Alright, alright I get it-”

“-you’re the strongest person in the Underground.”

Sans paused, an involuntary crackle of magic sparking in his chest. She couldn’t see it, he knew, but _he_ could definitely feel it.

Did she really think that of him? The thought made his soul swell with pride. He shook himself out of it to address something else she’d said.

“Wait, what do you mean they’re stronger than the both of us combined?”

Frisk looked up at him, confusion written on her face.

“I mean,” he said, “Aren’t you supposed to be the most determined person here? If you’re giving up now-”

“I’m not giving up,” she said seriously. “But I’m not lying either. Chara _is_ too strong for us to defeat.”

“How is that not giving up?” Sans asked.

“I’m not planning on defeating them,” Frisk answered.

Sans went still, a strange chill racking his whole body. He shivered slightly, not used to feeling anything but comfortably warm. The warmth of his cyan soul within his ribcage saw to that.

“You’re not planning on defeating Chara,” he said, his own voice sounding foreign to him.

“I’m planning on saving them,” she said, unintimidated by the cold look he gave her. She met his eyes easily, defiantly.

Sans considered that a large part of the reason Frisk was so peaceful was because she was inherently stubborn.

He gave a nervous chuckle.

“Heh, funny, kid,” he said, “That’s your best joke yet.”

“You know me better than that, Sans,” she said. “I can’t kill them. I can’t kill anyone. Not… if I have a choice.”

She looked up at him, her eyebrows knitting together. There was a fire in her eyes he recognized. It made the warmth in his soul flare up again, the heat shooting up his spine and pooling around his cheek bones.

Her face was the very embodiment of determination.

“They’re past saving, Frisk,” he tried. “You have to see that. Because of them the entire Underground is cowering in Asgore’s castle.”

“I know,” said Frisk.

“They almost killed you.”

“I _know_ ,” she said firmly, wrapping the blanket tighter around her.

Sans felt bad for upsetting her, but he had to make her understand. As much as he himself wanted to believe it, this wasn’t something MERCY could fix.

“It’s just not possible, kid,” he said softly. “Not this time.”

\--------

She figured he’d say something like that.

The part that frustrated her wasn’t in his reaction, however. It was in the fact that he had a valid point.

Saving Chara was not going to be the same as when she called out to her friend’s lost souls all those years ago. It wasn’t even going to be the same as saving Asriel. It had nearly cost her her life when she’d done that. Asriel had spent years soulless, trapped in the body of a small flower with no one to remind him of what compassion felt like.

Chara was different.

They didn’t have their own soul anymore either, but they had what Flowey didn’t.

They had Frisk.

Whenever Chara had taken control, Frisk would scream at them from within her mind, trying to convince them to stop killing everyone, to find their heart. The truth was she’d been trying to save Chara for years, for thousands of resets, but nothing had worked.

This wasn’t something MERCY alone could fix.

But that didn’t mean she was going to give up. She knew Sans didn’t believe it was possible, but Frisk would find a way. He wanted to fight Chara, to learn how to kill them and make them stay dead, but if Frisk could help it, she wasn’t going to give him the opportunity.

She had to find a way to save Chara without alerting Sans. If she told him not to kill Chara, he’d run off and do it without her, and she would be powerless to stop him. Not because she couldn’t, but because she wouldn’t. Sans was the last person in the world she would willingly hurt.

Now that she didn’t have to worry about Chara controlling her actions anymore, Frisk refused to hurt him ever again.

Honesty was one of her most valued traits, but she would have to lie through her teeth to get away with this.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d face such unfavorable odds, but that didn’t matter to her.

After all, statistics weren’t everything.

\--------

“So,” she said, “What’s _your_ plan?”

Well.

He definitely had a plan.

It was quite complicated.

“To kill the bastard,” he said with a shrug.

“You can’t do that!” she hissed, gently knocking him on the skull for his language.

“Why not?” he retorted, rubbing his skull even though it didn’t hurt, “They deserve it!”

“If you kill them, they’ll just come back.”

He knew that well. He’d known that for years. He’d used the resets and SAVE points against them last time, but this time it wasn’t going to be enough. He didn’t know how he’d defeat Chara this time, but it sure as hell wasn’t going to involve MERCY.

But Frisk didn’t like the idea of killing Chara, and that was a problem for him. She was probably already thinking of a way to save the anomaly behind his back. He didn’t need her thwarting his plans just because she had a hero complex.

He wasn’t sure if it was a human thing or just a Frisk thing to see the good in everyone even when it’s not there.

Frisk’s intentions were good, but he couldn’t let her keep him from doing what had to be done. The anomaly was neither worthy nor capable of being saved.

He couldn’t make Frisk understand. So for now, he had to lie.

“Then I’ll just kill them again,” he said, feigning stubbornness and shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket, pointedly staring out the window instead of at Frisk.

“And again?”

“And again.”

“And what happens if they kill you?”

“Then I’ll come back and kill them again.”

He shrugged. It was the pattern, always had been, and – unless they could find a way to stop it – always would be.

“What if you don’t come back?”

Sans blinked, lost for words. Didn’t come back? But he always came back. Everyone did. It was part of the pattern, the key to all the resets and multiple timelines. If he didn’t come back, it was because Chara didn’t reset, and as long as _they_ lived, there would always be another reset.

Still, the question stuck itself inside his skull, rolling around no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

What _if_ he didn’t come back?

“My point is, we have to come up with some way to take them on,” said Frisk. “We can’t stay in this castle forever. I don’t want to kill Chara. You do. Maybe there’s some kind of middle ground here.”

“A middle ground between life and death?” he asked with a smirk. “I don’t like the idea of zombie Chara.”

“Not that,” she said, giving him a look. “I meant middle ground between our plans. Something that keeps them from killing, that doesn’t involve killing _them_.”

What he didn’t tell her was that he’d already tried that. Not because he hadn’t wanted to kill the anomaly, but because he didn’t believe he could.

“You could always learn magic.”

They were both quiet. Sans was just surprised as Frisk, though the words had come from his mouth.

It was a great idea, in theory. If Chara could do it, so could Frisk, right?

Chara had developed the ability to wield magic on their own, and though they were once human like Frisk, Chara was now just the memory of one. Well, it was no guarantee, but maybe it was worth a shot.

If it worked, it would give Frisk a fighting chance against Chara should she be attacked. And if it didn’t, it was still a way to keep her distracted.

“Sans, I’m flattered that you forgot I was human,” said Frisk, “But I can’t use magic.”

“Chara can,” he countered. “If they can do it so can you.”

“I’m not… like Chara,” she said, pulling the blanket around her tighter. “Whatever you did to them, it pissed them off enough to break through time and space to get their revenge. I may have determination, but I’m not that… _ruthless_.”

Frisk was right, more than she knew. Magic didn’t run on determination; it ran on passion. They were similar, but they weren’t the same thing.

Passion had to do with emotional connections to something. It filled you with energy, which could be used to produce and power magic. It was vigor.

Determination was what made human blood run red, what made them so hard to kill. It was resolve.

Sans liked to believe he knew Frisk well, but when he tried to think of something she was passionate about, nothing came to mind. Nothing powerful enough for magic, at least.

“I think it’s worth a shot,” he said anyways. Then, for good measure, he added, “I could teach you.”

\--------

That got her attention.

Frisk doubted very much that it was possible for her to learn magic, but if he was offering to teach her, it would give him something to focus on. It could keep him distracted from the idea of finding a way to kill Chara.

Besides, if it did work, it could keep her alive if Chara tried to attack her again.

She had to admit, she’d always wanted to try.

“Alright,” she said, “I’ll try it, on one condition.”

\--------

Sans raised an eyebrow.

“Condition?” he said with a smile, “Human, I’m offering to teach you ancient monster secrets and you’re asking for something in return?”

She giggled, and his soul crackled proudly. He really liked that sound, even more if he was the reason she made it.

“Just one thing,” she promised, the laughter still dancing on her lips as she smiled at him. “I’ll try to learn magic if you agree to get some sleep.”

Just as she said it, he let out a long, satisfying yawn. He glared down at his body.

_Traitor._

He was afraid of closing his eyes tonight and waking up in Snowdin.

He was afraid of reliving Papyrus's death, Gaster's fall, and his battles in the judgement hall with the anomaly.

He was afraid of dreaming of Frisk, only to have her face warp and mutate into the horror that was Chara.

“Fine,” he agreed. Frisk stood and offered him a hand.

But for her, he'd put his fears aside.


	7. Warmth

**Chapter 7: Warmth**

It was surreal, being in the throne room after all this time.

Frisk had visited Asgore plenty of times throughout the years. They had tea every now and then in a lovely dining room on another floor, so she hadn’t actually been in here since she’d been forced to fight him towards the end of her journey.

He tended the golden flowers just as carefully as he had when she’d seen them last. Not a petal was out of place, not a leaf decayed. She wondered how he managed to take care of them all without stomping on any with his heavy feet. She didn’t even trust herself to walk through the patches for fear of trampling her king’s precious flowers.

Sans was still sleeping, and she’d decided not to wake him. It took her a while to convince Papyrus that he wasn’t just being lazy this time, that he could really use a few more hours.

She sat herself down on the moist grass beside the flower beds, gingerly reaching a hand to touch a shimmering petal. It was always bittersweet for her, seeing these flowers. They were so beautiful, but they reminded her of Flowey.

Of Asriel.

The last time she saw him, he held his original form; a small monster child with soft white fur and bright eyes. He wanted to use the last of his strength to destroy the Barrier, but she’d convinced him not to. She’d seen enough of humanity to know that monsters would not thrive on the surface.

In return, he made her promise she wouldn’t go looking for him. Without the souls, he would go back to being Flowey. Now that he remembered compassion, he would make sure he could never hurt anyone ever again.

Frisk told herself that he was still alive somewhere, that he was only hiding. It would mean he was alone again, but that was still better than not _being_ at all.

Right?

“Ah, there you are.”

Toriel stood in the doorway, looking both relieved to see her daughter and uncomfortable to be in what used to be her throne room.

“Hey mom,” Frisk greeted warmly. Toriel smiled and despite herself, entered the room.

“What are you doing, my child?” she asked, kneeling beside her.

“Sitting with the flowers,” said Frisk, shrugging. “I’m waiting for Sans to wake up.”

“You are?” her mother asked, an eyebrow raised. She seemed amused. “And why is that?”

“Oh, heh, well…” Frisk trailed off, suddenly wondering whether or not it was a good idea to tell anyone about her ‘magic lessons.’ What if it was frowned upon or something? What if it would scare the other monsters, knowing a human – who was already armed with the atom bomb that was determination – was planning on learning how to wield magic too?

She calmed herself down, reasoning that if it was inappropriate or dangerous, Sans would have told her so. At the very least he would’ve told her to keep it a secret.

“He’s going to teach me magic,” she said, still a bit wary as she watched her mother’s face for a reaction.

No outrage, no concern. Only doubt.

“But…” she said slowly, “Humans cannot use magic.”

“Not usually, no,” said Frisk. “We’re going to try, at least.”

She didn’t want to bring up the fact that Chara could use magic. After all, Toriel already knew that. A few nights ago, Sans sat Toriel down and explained everything. Or, at least as much as she could understand. She was still digesting the concepts of resets and timelines.

But it was the words Toriel had just used that bothered Frisk. They were chosen carefully, their significance not lost on her.

Toriel had already managed to separate the child she’d raised as her own from the creature they'd become. In her eyes, Chara had died a long time ago.

 _Humans_ cannot use magic, she said.

To Toriel, Chara was no longer human.

Frisk didn’t expect Sans to believe in Chara after the hell they'd put him through, but she didn’t think Toriel would give up so quickly. If her plan to save Chara was going to work, Frisk would need as many people on her side as she could get.

“I suppose there is no harm in trying,” said Toriel. “Though it may take Sans quite a while to wake up. Perhaps, if you are in a hurry, you would not mind if I helped you get started?”

Frisk instantly brightened, filled with new energy. She nodded vigorously, and Toriel chuckled at her enthusiasm.

“Alright,” she started, “Well, first things first. For monsters, magic comes when called, but only if there is energy for it to feed on. It is like… a motor vehicle, in a way. In order for it to drive, it needs gasoline. But of course, the car will not go anywhere if there is no ignition...”

Frisk was already lost. Her mother had many books, remains of her vast collection from when she’d lived on the surface. Toriel had read them all many times, and so had developed an incredible knowledge of a variety of specific things.

Evidently, one of her books had been about cars. It wasn’t one Frisk remembered reading, though, since she wasn’t sure what gasoline was, not to mention she had no idea that in order for a car to operate, it needed to be set on fire.

Toriel must have seen her confusion, because she tried a different approach.

“Um, perhaps I should explain it in simpler terms,” she said. “Magic is also like fire. In order to burn, there must be fuel. As long as there are flammable things within the flame’s reach, the fire will live. Yet there will be no fire at all without a spark.”

At that, Toriel held open one of her palms and in the blink of an eye, her hand was bathed in silver flames. Frisk smiled at the familiar beauty of her mother’s magic, captivated by the gentle flow as it licked at her fur.

And then Toriel did something she’d never done before. She held out her engulfed hand toward Frisk as an offering, inviting her to feel the source of her magic.

Growing up in the Underground as a human among monsters, Frisk learned fairly early on that magic was an intimate thing. Monsters used it all the time of course – after all, their bodies were composed entirely of it – but that wasn’t what Toriel was offering her.

Every time a monster used magic, it pooled at a point on their body, emanated from it, so that it could be pulled from that source and used. Usually the source was an appendage, like Toriel’s paws, or an eye, like Sans and Papyrus.

When pooled at the source like that, whilst the magic was still connected directly to their soul, it was inappropriate to try and touch that force.

She may or may not have learned that lesson by reaching a small, curious hand into San’s eyesocket to see what ‘the blue eyeball thingy’ felt like.

It wasn’t as though she’d never felt magic. Toriel used it to heal her whenever she’d gotten injured (and as a rowdy, adventurous kid, that had happened to Frisk quite often), Sans had lifted her with his magic plenty of times, and she’d been pierced with Undyne’s spears one or twice during a fight, and of course there was the time when that nice lady had summoned a big pillow to break her fall…

Yet those were instances of magic being _given_ to her, being _used_ on her. She’d never been permitted to hold the source of someone else’s magic before, to touch it when it was not in use, when all it was was the purest form of energy radiating directly from a monster’s soul.

 _That_ was what Toriel was giving to her.

“Are you…” Frisk asked, at a loss for words. “Is it…”

“It is okay, my child,” Toriel said gently. “If you really want to learn the ways of magic, you need to know the feeling of it before you can summon it for yourself.” Suddenly, she blushed. It was hard to see underneath her fur, but Frisk recognized it anyways. “This is what mothers do for their children, when they are first learning to use their magic. It is a bonding exercise that doubles as a teaching lesson. You… do not have to partake in this if you do not wish to, Frisk.”

Frisk didn’t know what to say. Toriel had taken her in from the very start of her time in the Underground, not hesitating to take her under her wing. Frisk had been wary at first, but Toriel was the first monster she’d ever encountered, and in time, she’d proven herself to be far more than worthy of the mom title than any human Frisk could remember knowing.

And their bond had only strengthened over time.

Wait a minute, was this what Sans was planning to do to teach her? Somehow, the idea of touching San’s magic was both embarrassing and intimidating. She doubted it would mean the same thing doing it with him as it did with Toriel.

“I’m only worried it’ll hurt,” Frisk said through a nervous chuckle. She still remembered the electric shock she’d felt from touching San’s magic as a child.

Actually, knowing him, he probably _was_ planning on letting her touch his magic like this. If only for the zap she’d get, just so he could follow it with a _shocking_ pun.

“It will not hurt,” Toriel promised.

“Okay,” Frisk said, slowly reaching her hand to take a hold of her mother’s.

At the first touch, she felt it.

It was like a warm bath after a long day. Calm, soothing, somewhere between liquid and air. It was fire, Frisk realized, pleasantly warm to the touch but not hot enough to burn her skin.

“Woah,” she said, amazed. Toriel smiled warmly.

“What do you feel, Frisk?” she asked.

“It’s warm,” she answered. “Kind of… soft?”

“Not that,” Toriel said patiently, “The feeling. Do you feel anything?”

“What am I supposed to feel?” asked Frisk.

“Emotions,” said Toriel, “Sometimes thoughts.”

 _Thoughts?_ Was she supposed to be able to read Toriel’s _mind_ by doing this? She tried to concentrate on the sensations of the magic, determined to feel what Toriel was telling her was there. All she felt were the physical aspects. The fire that didn’t burn.

“I… can’t tell,” Frisk admitted, fighting back a childish pout.

“It may not come right away,” said Toriel, pulling away and releasing the magic.

Frisk felt disappointed. She’d wanted so badly to make it work. She was open to the idea of it, and she’d been living around it for years. She wasn’t even trying to _replicate_ it yet. All she did so far was feel it, and she wasn’t even able to do _that_ right.

“Do not give up, my child,” Toriel comforted, kissing the top of her head. Even though Frisk had grown considerably as she aged, Toriel remained much larger than her. “I believe you can do it.”

“Thanks, mom.”

It was then that Frisk noticed the group of monster children watching her through the doorway. They were whispering amongst each other, some looking excited, some wary, all curious.

“Hey there,” said Frisk, smiling at the kids.

Toriel turned to see who she was talking to and chuckled.

“Oh dear…” she said. Frisk met her mother’s gaze. “I believe you are about to be in the spotlight once again, my child. News is known to spread fast in the Underground, after all.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” said Toriel with a smile, “When they hear the human is attempting to learn magic, everyone is going to want to be there to witness you when you get it right.”

 _Oh great_ , thought Frisk, blush blossoming on her cheeks.

_An audience._

\--------

As usual, Sans woke up screaming.

He gasped for breath he didn’t technically need, bony hands gripping his sheets…

He took in his surroundings, recognizing the stone walls of Asgore’s castle. He’d been given his own chambers for this very reason, so he wouldn’t cause any more distress with his nightmares than the monsters of the Underground were already dealing with.

So, this wasn’t a reset.

He growled, slamming a fist into the backboard of his bed, cracking the thing in half. He felt a little guilty for the property damage, but at least he wouldn’t snap at anyone who had the misfortune of encountering him right after he’d woken up from a nightmare.

“Sans?”

He hadn’t noticed the door to his room open. Papyrus stood in the doorway, eyeing the broken backboard with worry.

“What happened, brother?” he asked, snapping out of it quickly. He rushed over to Sans’ side to make sure he wasn’t hurt. “What did you do?”

“Nightmare,” he said simply.

Papyrus immediately softened, knowing exactly what that one word meant in this context. Sans had many secrets, most of which he was able to keep from his brother, but there’s only so much you can hide from someone when you live under the same roof.

“Bad?” he asked quietly. He reached his hand out for Sans to hold.

Physical contact was complicated after a nightmare. Hugs were too much, but Sans still needed to know for sure that he was there, that Papyrus was alive. The light touch of phalanges was just enough to bring him back.

_Bad? Heh, they’re all bad…_

“I’ve had worse,” said Sans. It wasn’t a lie. “Where’s Frisk?”

At that, Papyrus smiled, an awed expression taking over his features.

“My beloved brother,” Papyrus said, “You will not _believe_ what the human is trying to do now.”


	8. Spark

**Chapter 8: Spark**

Toriel wasn’t wrong; news spread fast in the Underground.

They’d left the throne room so the small crowd wouldn’t ruin Asgore’s flowers, moving into a courtyard outside of the castle. It was mostly made of the same gray stone as the rest of the castle, but in the middle there was a small pocket of soft grass. In the center was a sturdy tree, not overly huge, but still impressive.

They were all gathered at the base of its trunk.

Her audience was composed entirely of curious monster children. The younger ones seemed the most hopeful – many having just learned how to access their own magic – and were eager to see what kind the human would get. The older kids knew better. So when Toriel tried to convince the kids not to raise their hopes too high, they seemed to know that already.

“Before I try to teach you,” Toriel said to Frisk, “I must tell you the origin of magic. You know that humans cannot use it, but you do not know _why_. Perhaps knowing will give you a better understanding. It may help you realize what you will use as your spark.”

The kids sat around Frisk and Toriel in a lop-sided circle, getting comfortable for Toriel’s story. Even the older ones seemed interested.

A small bunny monster climbed right into Frisk’s lap without fear, leaning back on her like she was the most comfortable chair they’d ever sat in. Another bunny monster, a slightly older one, apologized for their younger sibling’s intrusion, but Frisk insisted she didn’t mind. Some other monsters took that as a cue to snuggle against her, and pretty soon they were all sitting in a pile, ready to listen to Toriel’s story.

Her mother watched the misfits with an endearing expression for a moment, as if she was recalling a fond memory. Then, she raised her palms, and through her magic she projected images made of silver fire to go along with her story.

“Long ago, monsters and humans were the same,” she said. She showed them a flaming image of a land teeming with life. In the center were two animals; an ape and a ram. “They were animals, knowing nothing but hunger, fear, and the need for survival.

“One day, a voice spoke to them,” Toriel continued. Her magical image changed to show the clouds parting in the sky, rays of sunlight shining down on the landscape. The animals were now looking up. “The voice told them that they had been watching both animals for a very long time.

“They acknowledged the resourcefulness of the ape.” The ape dropped a coconut-like fruit from a tree in order to crack it open. “For they could create and invent in a way no other animal could in order to solve problems.

“The voice also praised the ram for its daring,” she continued. The ram was facing off against a mountain lion, using its horns as both a weapon and a shield from the lion’s teeth and claws. “For they were designed to be prey, and though that’s what they had remained, they had developed strength and resilience to protect their young from predators.

“The voice announced that they would bestow a gift unto each animal. It was the gift of consciousness, the ability to communicate through language, to create cultures and customs, to evolve into an entirely new animal. But in order to pay for that consciousness, they would have to give up a previous trait.”

The ape held what looked to be a small star to the sky.

“The ape relinquished their sixth sense – the animal instinct that filled their life with constant worry and fear – because they were resourceful enough already to be able to survive on their own.”

The ram gave up what looked to be a snowflake, though it was the same size as the ape’s star.

“The ram gave up their wrath – the ability to become so enveloped in a grudge that it could freeze their heart solid in cold hatred –  because they saw it as useless. They did not need hate to survive, and certainly would not need it to thrive.

“The voice fulfilled its promise, giving both animals consciousness. Over many years, the now sentient animals evolved. They learned to stand on two feet, to talk amongst each other, telling stories and legends as they built homes and towns, inventing and protecting their own, working together to preserve both their present and their future.”

Man and monsters, standing tall, wearing clothes, living together in peace.

“The ape had become the human, and the ram had become the monster.

“However, over time they each learned that they had underestimated the traits they had given up, and now that they lived without them, they realized how useful they really could be. Without their sixth sense, the human could no longer sense danger before it came, and they became even more afraid than they had been before.”

The human hunched over, whittling a spear and looking over their shoulder.

“Similarly, without wrath, the monster could no longer feel true anger, and as a result, became prey to attacks, for it was known they would not seek revenge. They were no longer able to keep their families safe from predators.”

Homes burned, monsters wept.

“The human felt betrayed, and the monster felt cheated. Together, they called out to the voice in the sky, asking it why it had tricked them, begging it to change them back. The voice answered, telling them that it had not meant to make their lives harder, but that it could not take back their consciousness. In giving them such a powerful gift, time itself had been altered, shaping the progress of the entire world. Instead, the voice offered another power as consolation, to make up for what they had lost.

“However, because they had given up different traits, the power was not the same for the human as it was for the monster.”

For the first time in Toriel’s presentation there was a color other than silver. A small red orb fell from the sky, landing in the hands of the human.

“The human was given determination, a power driven by the strength to carry on against all odds, to persevere. They had given up their ability to fear the unseen, to worry about the unknown, and so had gained a greater resolve to fight for the future.”

The monster received a silver orb. It shimmered just a bit brighter than the rest of her magic in order to stand out.

“The monster, however, had gained magic, a power driven by love, the feelings that governed every action and decision they made in their lives. They had given up wrath, and so had developed a greater passion for the world around them.”

Her silver magic faded away, leaving behind nothing but a soft smoky afterimage of the monster and the human, both holding their secondary gifts from the voice in the sky.

“Humans cannot use magic,” Toriel finished softly, “Because they no longer possess the sixth sense. It is the sense of the world, the feel of the environment around us, basic instinct that gives us feelings we cannot always put into neat little words.”

Frisk was quiet. She felt little monster children eyes watching her face, waiting to see her reject the idea. They wanted her to put as much faith in herself as they did.

“The magic does not only come from within us, my child,” she continued, “It comes from what surrounds us as well.”

\--------

_“You will find it if you focus.”_

_“Focus on what?”_

_“The feeling.”_

_You feel like she’s been saying that forever._

_“What is the feeling?”_

_“It is a feeling inside of you that you must find on your own.”_

_Why doesn’t she just tell you?_

_You feel like if she told you, you’d be able to focus on feeling it._

_“I cannot tell you the feeling, my child.”_

_You are getting tired of this._

_Frustrated._

_“Why not?”_

_She’s always had more patience than you._

_And that’s saying something._

_But…_

_You’ve been doing this for hours._

_“Because it must come from you.”_

_Ugh._

_Maybe there’s only so much determination can accomplish._

_Can you really pull this off?_

_You’re beginning to lose hope._

_And that’s saying something._

\--------

Frisk had done everything exactly as Toriel said and hadn’t produced anything.

After what felt like – and probably _was_ – the hundredth unsuccessful attempt, even Toriel was starting to look exhausted.

“Maybe we should take a break,” she said gently, and Frisk nodded, staring at the ground beneath them.

“Nonsense!” a familiar voice called.

Frisk looked up to see Undyne walking her way. It was only then that Frisk realized there were other monsters too, more than just the kids from before. Her audience had slowly grown in numbers since her first lesson with Toriel. Alphys stood not too far away, smiling and waving nervously when she met her eyes.

“Breaks are for wimps!” Undyne said firmly. She stopped a few feet before Frisk and raised her left arm into the air, summoning a sparkling teal spear the length of her body. Then, she sidestepped, her knees bending and her arm lowering the tip of the spear to rest about an inch away from Frisk’s face.

Frisk could feel the vibration of the energy humming so close to her, but she wasn’t too worried. She knew Undyne wasn’t planning on hurting her.

“You’re no wimp,” Undyne said with a smile. “Are you, human?”

“Um, Undyne?” Frisk asked, eyes crossing to stare at the spear. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you find your spark,” she said with a smirk. She raised her weapon and with a snap, it evaporated into sparkling teal mist. “Sitting around thinking yourself sick isn’t cutting it. Focusing is part of it, but it’s not everything. What you should be doing is letting instinct carry some of the load.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, my magic’s strongest when I fight,” said Undyne with a shrug, “Now that you know what magic feels like, maybe it’ll come naturally when you try to dodge my attacks.”

“Your attacks?” Toriel asked, eyes squinting disapprovingly at where this conversation was going.

“Sure!” Undyne exclaimed proudly, “Is there a better trainer in all of the Underground?”

“You want me to fight you?” Frisk asked. It was a vastly different approach than the one Toriel had taken, and one that – despite everything – she was not willing to try.

“Of course not!” said Undyne. “I’d kick your butt! No, I’ve got a much better idea. One that, sadly, doesn’t involve nearly as much risk of injury or death.”

With that, she sat down in front of Frisk so that they faced each other. Toriel scooted a bit back to give them some space. The crowd gathered a bit closer, the smaller monsters and children squeezing past the taller ones so they could see.

Undyne gently took hold of Frisk’s hands and placed them on her crossed legs, palms facing up. Then she hovered her own hands over Frisk’s. The tips of their fingers would have touched if not for the small space Undyne left between them.

“It’s a game Pops used to play with me when I was growing up,” Undyne explained. “It’s on a much smaller scale, though, since you’re a, uh, special circumstance…”

Frisk blinked, not sure whether or not to take that as a compliment. She shrugged it off, though. If it meant Undyne was taking it easy on her she wouldn’t complain.

“This is how you play,” Undyne continued. “First, I tap one of your fingertips with mine.” She demonstrated, bringing down her right index finger to touch Frisk’s. She nodded to Frisk. “Then, you repeat.”

Frisk lifted her left index finger upwards to meet Undyne’s in a light tap.

“Then, I add onto it,” said Undyne. She tapped her right index finger, then her left pinky. “And you repeat the taps in the order I gave them to you.”

Frisk obeyed, tapping her left index finger against Undyne’s, followed by her right pinky.

“I give you another, and you keep repeating,” said Undyne, “We both have to remember the order, so we can keep adding onto it. Easy enough, right?”

“Um, sure,” said Frisk. She wasn’t too sure how this was supposed to unlock her possibly inexistent magic, but wasn’t sure how to ask without sounding like a dumb human.

“We’re starting over, okay?” Undyne said, meeting her eyes. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

They began to play.

Right pinky, left middle, left ring, right pinky, left pinky…

Finally, Frisk couldn’t hold in her question anymore.

“Is this supposed to—”

She felt a little shock of pain on her right middle finger, like a tiny needle had poked her fingertip.

“Ow! Hey!”

She pulled away and examined her finger, but there was no blood.

“Did you…” Frisk asked, looking back at Undyne. She was smiling, holding up her fingers to reveal the tiniest teal spear Frisk had ever seen her produce. “You… Is that allow—?”

“Like I said,” she interrupted, “You’re not a wimp, are you human?”

So, there was more to this game than she let on, and it had to do with pain.

 _Excellent_.

Frisk debated continuing to play, but she wasn’t actually getting hurt, and she had endured much worse pain plenty of times before.

 _Besides_ , she thought with a mental pout, _I’m_ not _a wimp_.

She placed her hands back under Undyne’s, looking straight into her opponent’s eyes as she did, showing her that she wasn’t afraid of a little pinprick like that. Undyne smiled, but this time it wasn’t teasing. She seemed proud.

“Knew you could do it, human,” she said. “Alright, same order.”

Right pinky, left middle, left ring, right pinky, left pinky—

The same little jab of pain through her right middle finger. Frisk winced a little, but this time she was prepared for it.

“It’s a shame you can’t use magic to dodge my attack,” said Undyne with mock concern, “I guess you’ll just have to keep eating my spears!”

Frisk tapped her response; left pinky, right middle, right ring, left pinky, right pinky…

But she hesitated on the next step in the sequence. What was she supposed to do here? Undyne answered the question for her.

“Now you try to stick me back,” said Undyne. “You’re pretty chill, so you might not feel it now, but getting stuck like that enough times can get anyone worked up. That’s the point. Get angry!”

“Why?”

“Magic runs on emotions.”

Frisk looked up to see Alphys standing by her girlfriend, nervously fiddling with her lab coat as she spoke.

“The hardest part about magic is getting it to start,” she continued, “But once you do that, it’s pretty self-sufficient. Magic is also easier to work with on this scale. So if you do get angry, try to focus it at the tip of your finger.”

“But don’t forget the order,” Undyne reminded her, “There’ll be… _consequences_ if you mess it up”

Frisk bit her lip nervously. It was hard enough remembering the order, but now she had to use magic – something that no one was sure she could even _do,_ she might add – or else be pricked to death by tiny spears?

This day was going excellently so far, wasn’t it?

The game continued.

Right pinky, left middle, left ring, right pinky, left pinky— ouch! Right index…

She was getting the hang of it, sort of. Despite the near-constant painful pricks to her fingers – yes, that was plural; Undyne was relentless – she wasn’t really getting frustrated. She’d been able to get worked up with Toriel because she was actively trying to awaken some mysterious power she doubted she even had. This didn’t feel like she was working on anything, except maybe keeping up with the order of the finger taps.

Right pinky, left middle, left ring, right pinky, left pinky, ow, right index, left middle, left middle, ow, right middle, right ring, ow, right middle, left pinky, left ring, right ring, left…

Left what?

What came after the right ring again?

This time the little pinprick of pain shot through all ten of her fingertips, starling her and making her yank her hands back once again.

“What was _that_ for?” Frisk demanded, sucking on her fingers tenderly. She tasted blood this time, just a bit.

“You forgot the pattern,” said Undyne.

“No I didn’t!” Frisk defended, looking down at the little droplets of blood growing on her fingertips. They were tiny – in a day there wouldn’t even be any marks to show they’d been there – but boy did they hurt! Why was it always the tiny ones that hurt the most?

“Oh yeah?” Undyne teased, “How much are you willing to bet on that? Because if you get it wrong, the consequences are even more… _dire_.”

“Alright, alright, I forgot!” she admitted, waving her hands in surrender. She couldn’t help a smile. “Let’s try again. From the top this time; I think talking made me lose the rest of the pattern too.”

“Sure,” said Undyne, “But this time we’re gonna change it up.” Before Frisk could protest, Undyne reassured her. “It doesn’t involve more pain, if that’s what you were gonna say. I just want you to try something this time.”

“What’s that?”

“I want you to think of something important,” she said seriously. “Something you can’t imagine living without. It could be something you really like to do, like, uh, singing maybe? I don’t know you look like you’d sing.” Frisk raised an eyebrow, smiling at her friend. “Look, it just has to be something you really care about. Maybe even some _one_ , like your mom, or a close friend. You get me?”

Frisk nodded. She wouldn’t really have a hard time picturing her mom when she was right beside her, even if she was busy trying to remember Undyne’s memory game.

“Good,” Undyne said. “Okay, from the top.”

\--------

Sans couldn’t believe she’d started without him.

Well, he could believe it; he just didn’t want to. For some reason, it just rubbed him the wrong way. _He_ was supposed to be the one to teach her something like this. Magic was powerful stuff, after all. What if Frisk’s magic was just as powerful as Chara’s? What if it was just as unpredictable?

And of course, there’s the fact he just wanted to be her first.

The first to teach her, he meant. The first to… teach her magic.

That’s what he meant.

Sans arrived to the scene a lot bluer in the face than he’d intended, but the feeling went away when he saw the crowd.

It was just like Papyrus said. She was surrounded by a crowd of people – mostly kids, some adults – and all eyes were on her. Although, she didn’t really look like she was practicing magic. It looked like she was playing games with Undyne.

He ‘ported over to the back of the crowd so as not to screw with Frisk’s concentration. At least she looked like she was doing something. Her eyes were closed, her brows furrowed in concentration, her fingers tapping Undyne’s like she was playing an invisible piano.

_What the heck…?_

Well, even if she was concentrating, she wasn’t getting anywhere. He could tell she wasn’t giving off any magical energy, even from the back of the crowd. No one else seemed to have the heart to tell her that. Or maybe they just couldn’t tell.

He figured he’d do her a favor and let her know…

He teleported directly behind her, knelt on one knee, his mouth just a hair away from her right ear. He whispered directly into it, his voice low, teasing.

“I think you’re doing it wrong.”

That was when he saw the red.

\--------

_Think about something you care about._

_You picture Snowdin during Christmas._

_You picture the ‘stars’ in Waterfall._

_You picture the ever-burning coals of Hotland._

_You picture the shimmering city lights in New Home._

_There are a lot of things you care about._

_A lot of things you love._

_You don’t feel any more magical for thinking of them._

_Think about someone you care about._

_Toriel, her fur always warm and her hugs always available._

_Papyrus, unconditionally loving and accepting of everyone._

_Alphys, her love of anime unrivaled; a delight to be around._

_Undyne, passionate in everything she does; tough with a soft center._

_Think about someone you can’t live without._

_Sans._

_You feel something._

_A button._

_You think of Sans as you push it._

_“I think you’re doing it wrong.”_

_A spark._

\--------

Undyne gasped, yanking her hand away to suck on her finger.

Frisk opened her eyes, startled.

“Hey!” said Undyne, before realizing. She blinked, shocked into stillness for a moment, before staring in complete disbelief at her finger. “I… you…”

“W-what?” Frisk asked, hardly daring to breathe.

 _No_ , she kept thinking, _it isn’t that. It can’t be that. Toriel said so. She said…_

“You… _burned_ me,” said Undyne, still staring at her finger. Then, a smile spread across her face and it was so sudden, so wide Frisk was afraid it would break her. “You burned me!”

“I-I’m sorry!” Frisk started, but Undyne was already throwing her arms around her, hugging her and telling her she knew she could do it and everything was spinning. People were cheering, hooting, calling for others to come over but Frisk knew she wasn’t going to pull anything else off for the rest of the day.

“I…” Frisk said, almost to herself, because no one else was listening. They were too busy freaking out. “I did it…?”

“ _Yeah_ , you did!” Undyne exclaimed.

Frisk caught bits and pieces of the crowd’s shouts and cheers.

“The human used magic! The _human_ used _magic_!”

“I told you so!”

“Aw, did I miss it?”

“I didn’t see it!”

Undyne finally released her, holding her finger up to Frisk’s face, so close she couldn’t see anything but a blur.

“Look!” she cried, and she sounded so happy to be hurt that Frisk was even more convinced this was just a dream. “ _Look!_ ”

Frisk numbly took hold of Undyne’s hand, holding it out so she could actually take a decent look. Sure enough, right in the middle of her right index finger was the tiniest blister Frisk had ever seen. Granted, she hadn’t seen too many, as the only fire she ever really interacted with was Toriel’s. But it was a blister nonetheless.

And somehow, Frisk had done that to her.

She couldn’t remember for the life of her _how_.

But it burned. _She_ burned. Was it fire magic, like her mom? She hadn’t even _seen_ anything, and apparently neither had anyone else. It had only been a feeling, the faintest, lightest feeling, but she couldn’t even remember how she’d gotten there…

No, no, she had to cling to it, she couldn’t forget it after all that work! Light, fluttery, happy…

She looked down at her hands, but there was nothing there. Not even the tiniest flame.

And then she felt something else. Eyes on the back of her neck. Someone was watching her.

Someone was smiling at her.

_Light, fluttery, happy…_

She looked up and saw him. He was far away now, standing over near the castle, but she knew without knowing how that he’d been right behind her just a moment ago.

He took one arm out of his jacket pocket to wave at her, and she finally got to see the smile she’d felt before. It was his rarest, most endangered smiles.

A genuine one.

“See?” someone said, and she couldn’t even register whose voice it was. “You just needed to find your spark!”

“Yeah…” she said, still staring at the space Sans had occupied in the distance not a moment before.

_My spark…_


	9. Shift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning for this chapter, there's fairly graphic depictions of gore here, so if you're not into that you probably shouldn't read it (then again it's in my archive warnings for this story so...). Also, this chapter is really sad, so be ready for that. It's also probably the longest chapter yet, so strap in.
> 
> Other than that, enjoy!

**Chapter 9: Shift**

_He’s dying and there’s nothing you can do._

_Tears fall from your eyes, landing on his already disintegrating face. You’ve seen this so many times before, but it will never stop hurting._

_It always kills a part of you when he dies._

_She’s laughing, her head thrown back. This is so funny to her, her own eyes are streaming with tears as well._

_You hold him. It’s all you can do not to break down. You know she will come for you next. You know she will kill you._

_You’re too broken to care about that._

_“Sans, I…”_

_“Me too.”_

_“It can’t… you can’t…”_

_“It’s okay, kid. We’ll get her next time.”_

_He says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like there will always be another reset._

_He says it like he doesn’t care, but you know he does._

_“Next time will be different,” you promise him._

_The last of him falls apart. He is dust in your arms._

_She is still laughing._

_“So,” she says. “Is it really gonna be different next time? Are you finally gonna kill me for good?”_

_“No.”_

_“Heh, showing a brave face for your boy–”_

_“I’m not going to kill you, Chara.”_

_She stops laughing._

_“I cannot believe how naïve you are.”_

_You ignore her._

_“One of these resets, I’ll find it,” you say._

_She looks angry._

_“It doesn’t exist,” she says firmly._

_You gather the last shreds of your confidence, what little remains of your determination. You give it to your last words, the last sentence you will ever utter in this timeline._

_“It does–” you tell her._

_She grits her teeth and runs toward you, her knuckles white as she grips her knife, ready to kill you._

_You make one last promise before you die._

_One you are determined to keep._

_“– and I’m going to find it for you.”_

\---

Frisk woke to the sound of nine snoring monsters, the last memories of her dream fading away.

In the cot beside her lie Toriel. Alphys and Undyne also had their own cots closer to the window. Papyrus was in the next room, along with Grillby and his family, and a handful of other monsters. Asgore’s castle was huge, but there were at least a couple thousand monsters to house, most of which came from the massive capital ‘New Home.’ Everyone had to share.

Except for Sans, of course.

But there were good reasons for that.

Each person had their own little area of space. It was enough to lay down, stretch out, rest, but not enough to be comfortable, to have privacy.

It was surviving, after all, not living.

One of her roommates, a slime monster named Susan, was currently snoring loud enough to rattle Frisk’s brain inside her skull.

She was starting to miss living.

Silently, she stood up from her cot – a small arrangements of blankets, really – and grabbed the one Asgore gave her. It was the warmest and softest one she had now, and for that reason it was her favorite. She carefully wrapped it around her shoulders and wore it like a cloak, preparing herself for the slightly damp chill of the cold stone halls.

She closed the door quietly behind her and turned, heading down the hall to check on Sans.

If he wasn’t in the spot they’d met at last night, she’d give up – no use waking him up if he was sleeping, since he got little enough of that anyway – but if he was, she had plenty of questions for him.

Not just for him, though. For Toriel, and Asgore, Undyne… Any monster who would listen. After her first burst of magic – after the cheers had calmed down and she’d finally had a moment to herself – she’d sat down and gone over as many details about that day as she could remember, going back to when Toriel first found her in the throne room. She wanted to pinpoint the exact thing that had triggered her power.

She’d gone over Toriel’s story, and realized that there was something missing from it. If humans were never given magic, how had the barrier been created? She distinctly remembered reading somewhere that it was put in place by ‘seven of the human’s greatest magicians,’ – or something along those lines – so unless that was a translation error of some kind, Toriel’s story didn’t make sense.

How had those seven humans gotten magic? Also, if they were the _best_ magicians, didn’t that mean there were at least more than those seven?

She remembered Sans’ voice whispering in her ear, and wanted to know what he’d done to her, if anything, that had given her that spark. She wanted to know what everyone else’s spark was, if they were different, if they were things or people or–

_You’re being watched._

Frisk stopped, freezing in place to take in the feeling. She still hadn’t gotten used to it, this hyper-awareness. From the moment she’d burned Undyne’s finger, it was like a switch had been flipped in her mind. She could tell more easily what people were feeling, their energy levels, whether or not they were sick...

And of course, there was the whole eyes-in-the-back-of-her-head thing.

The feeling of being watched.

She’d experienced that feeling before, but it was nowhere near as pronounced as this. It was almost as if she could feel everything and everyone around her. Whether they were looking at her, _focused_ on her…

It was like she’s gained a whole new sense.

She hadn’t heard anything. It was too dark to see. But she knew someone was there. Someone was watching her.

She could feel the hatred in their heart.

Her pulse raced as she spun around, blindly hoping she’d spot them, or that she was somehow mistaken and it was just Sans out for a midnight stroll through the castle.

“So,” said Chara’s low, icy voice. Frisk shuddered. “You’ve awoken it yet again. I was waiting for the next timeline with an actual challenge…”

The sound didn’t have a source. Frisk couldn’t see anything, and it seemed to be coming from all directions. How was she doing that?

“Access what?” Frisk answered, telling herself not to be scared. She was trying to save Chara, and if she was to succeed she couldn’t be afraid.

This time, Chara’s voice came from directly in front of her.

“Don’t play coy with me, _human_ ,” she said, darkly. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Though, it looks like you’ve forgotten how to use it…”

How many timelines had she been back for, exactly? She couldn’t worry about that now. Frisk forced herself not to react to the new information. It wasn’t as hard for her as it might have been for others. She’d learned to mask her emotions long before she fell through Mt. Ebott.

“You’re human too,” Frisk said.

“I haven’t been human for a long, long time.”

“That’s not true,” she insisted, eyes still searching the dimly lit corridor, hoping to lock onto something solid. It was strange having a conversation with the darkness. “You’ve been human this whole time. You’ve just forgotten–”

“Let me guess,” came Chara’s cruel voice, once again coming from all sides, from nothing. “I just have to remember how to _love_.” Her voice was mocking. “The big hero just has to teach me how to _feel_ again.”

Frisk bit her lip and said nothing.

“Do you even know what I _am_?” Chara whispered, her words sinking into Frisk’s skin like tiny icicles, sharp as knives.

“No,” Frisk admitted, talking into the darkness. “Tell me, Chara. Tell me what you are and I will find a way to fix you. I’ll help you feel again, just like I did with Asriel.”

“Asriel was weak,” Chara said, her voice somewhat more normal as she spoke her brother’s name. “You only made him weaker.”

Frisk tensed, slowly dropping her favorite blanket. She sensed malice, hate. She needed to prepare to dodge attacks.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Chara’s disembodied voice whispered directly into her ear. Frisk willed her heart to stop pounding against her chest, to stay still. “I don’t need to be fixed. I’m not _broken_.”

“There’s more to life than pain, Chara,” said Frisk, her spine electrified, her muscles tight. “You don’t have to kill people to be happy.”

“I don’t kill to be happy,” she said, “I kill because it’s _fun_.”

Frisk’s heart pounded in her chest. She backed against one of the walls, scanning the darkness desperately, expecting knives to come flying at her.

“Oh, Frisk,” Chara said. “I’m not going to kill you. Not yet, anyway. Been there, done that. You know.”

Frisk ignored the sudden jolt of pain in her head. She suddenly remembered something from her dream. The judgement hall, Sans, Chara telling her something was pointless…

_It doesn’t exist._

“What _are_ you going to do?” Frisk asked, still not trusting Chara not to attack. Even if she wasn’t going to, Frisk could tell she wanted to.

“You know,” Chara said, ignoring her question. “I was watching you today, Frisk. You looked so… _happy_ …”

Her voice cracked on the word.

“I made a decision,” Chara continued. “I hope you understand. I was tired of waiting. Maybe next time, I’ll have more… _patience_.”

Frisk’s blood ran cold.

“What did you do?” she choked out.

“It’s a virtue, after all,” said Chara with a sour smirk. “Patience. And, as you’re well aware, I’m _all_ about morals.”

“Chara,” Frisk repeated, but she couldn’t ask the question again. She was afraid of the answer.

Suddenly, there was a figure standing before her. She was still hidden mostly in shadows, but Frisk could see the glowing red pupils of her eyes, watching her with almost reverent attention.

“I left you a present,” Chara answered matter-of-factly. She raised an arm, pointing at the end of the hall, still staring directly into Frisk’s eyes. “It’s just around the corner.”

Frisk flew down the rest of the hallway, her blanket completely forgotten. As she whipped around the corner she nearly tripped over them.

Lying there in a mess of blood, fur, and torn-open flesh – still squirming, still clinging to life – was a child.

She recognized them.

Earlier, they’d apologized for their younger sibling, who’d crawled into her lap without asking so they could get comfortable for Toriel’s story.

Later, they’d congratulated her for unlocking her magic, hugging her around her hips because they could only reach that high standing on the tips of their toes.

They were so small.

Frisk trembled, unable for a moment to react. They saw her, their eyes locking with hers and she knew now was not the time to not know what to do.

She fell to her knees and forced her horror aside as she assessed their injuries. There was blood everywhere, matting their fur, oozing from wounds so deep Frisk wondered how they were still in, relatively, one piece.

She called for help as loud as she could, trying to hold the poor child together so they wouldn’t lose any more blood. She checked them.

Their HP was at 1.

“Somebody!” Frisk screamed again. She felt hot tears streaking down her cheeks. “Help us!”

The child stared into her eyes, gasping for breath, terrified of the idea of death. An idea they shouldn’t even know existed when they were so young.

Their energy was slipping. She could feel it now, like the tiniest flickering flame. The last of their heat was coming off of them in waves, pulsing, almost like their blood. Frisk knew it wasn’t body heat, like her own. It was the heat of their soul, the very essence of their being, breaking apart in her arms.

Her trembling hand reached out to rest against their cheek. She tried to offer them a smile, tried to give them one last piece of comfort before they went.

“It’s okay,” she said, and she surprised herself by saying it smoothly, with confidence, because she knew they needed that right now. They were just a kid. They needed to know this wasn’t the end. They needed to be convinced, even if Frisk knew different. “Your mother’s coming. I can hear her, alright? I know it hurts, but she’s almost here. You just have to stay awake for me, okay? You’re going to be alright.”

“P-promise?” they said weakly, a crack in their voice as another tear fell from their cheek.

Then, before Frisk could make a promise she knew she couldn’t keep, the last of their energy, in the form of a little pink wisp of light, vanished.

They were gone.

Their body crumbled in her arms. Their blood solidified, turning to tiny silver particles of dust. She suppressed the overwhelming urge to shake the dust off of her clothes, to frantically brush it from her arms and hands.

The only thing keeping her from doing so was a memory of being told how sacred a monster’s remains were. They were to be sprinkled over their favorite thing, not scattered all over the floor in a disrespectful mess.

“You asked me what I’m going to do.”

Frisk tore her eyes away from the dust-covered clothes the kid had been wearing.

She tried to say something, to ask Chara why she did this, to shout for more help, _anything_.

All she could do was scream.

Chara smiled, the corners of her lips ripping apart. Her jaw unhinged, black blood dribbling down her chin. When she spoke, she didn’t sound like herself. She sounded like the furthest possible thing away from human.

“ _I a m g o i n g t o p l a y w i t h y o u_.”

\---

_There is blood on your hands. It’s not yours._

_It is rarely ever yours._

_This time, you weren’t the one who caused it. You weren’t the one to put the pain in their eyes._

_But that thought doesn’t make you feel any better._

_You feel a distant crackle. Something like electricity. Snapping, powerful, charged, but unless conducted, it’s completely dormant._

_It is certainly conducted now._

_Suddenly there’s arms around you, pulling you back, holding you against something solid, warm._

_Bones._

_“Sans?”_

_Your own voice sounds foreign to you._

_He’s telling you it’s okay, that he’s got you now, that it’s all going to be alright._

_You nod, even though you know it’s not alright._

_Nothing about this is alright._

\---

The next morning, Sans was sitting at a large round table in a sunlit dining room.

It wasn’t real sunlight, of course, but it was a nice effect. Sans had seen the sun, and all things considered, this wasn’t a terrible rendition.

He sat next to Papyrus, across from Frisk. They were surrounded by a council of monster representatives, at least three per major city. Also at the table were the Royal Scientist, the head of the Royal Guard, the King of All Monsters, and the former Queen of All Monsters.

Those important titles felt like nothing in light of last night’s chaos.

Everyone was quiet. No one touched their tea. Frisk was sitting on her chair with her knees pulled up to her chest. She was hugging them so tightly that her fingers and knuckles were white. She stared into her tea like it was the only thing keeping her grounded in reality, like she was clinging to sanity in the form of a porcelain cup.

She shouldn’t be here, and neither should he. She needed to be alone, tucked away in a small, safe room so she could get to work on burying last night’s waking nightmare. Whatever idiot thought Frisk should be here just because she was the only human in the Underground was _looking_ for a bad time.

The castle rumbled with energy. Sans could feel everyone’s fear, anxiety, panic, and even some resignation. Half of the monsters decided to leave after the announcement this morning. A monster child had “fallen down,” Asgore told everyone, putting it as lightly as possible. He didn’t even mention the torture, the mutilation, and people still wanted to go home. They knew they were next, and they’d rather die in relative comfort than be stuck here.

The other half still thought Asgore could protect them. They clung to useless hope like Frisk clung to her teacup.

“Sans warned you,” Toriel spoke up suddenly, her eyes meeting Asgore’s sunken, broken ones. Another child had died, and though this time he hadn’t been the one to do the killing, he probably blamed himself just as much for it. “He told you she would not be stopped by these walls.”

“What would you have done?” he asked, without a shred of malice. He genuinely wished to know, as if knowing what he could have done to prevent it would make him feel any better.

Toriel didn’t answer, so another monster – one of the representatives from Hotland – answered for her.

“Doubled the guard,” they said. “Placed a fire barrier. Kept the _creature_ away from our children.”

“A barrier wouldn’t have worked,” Alphys said quietly, sounding almost as drained as Asgore. “She… knows the castle. She would find some way in, even without her magic.”

“Not to mention our forces were stretched thin as it was,” Undyne added, sounding annoyed. “There weren’t enough guards to watch everyone.”

“Surely this tragedy could have been prevented somehow,” another representative demanded, glaring at Undyne as if she was only making petty excuses.

They began arguing, Undyne raising her voice and standing up to assert her dominance and the representative – a toad monster from Waterfall with a helpful nametag that read _Mr. Toad_ – followed suit. Toriel sat calmly, taking quiet sips of her tea, her famous patience forging on. Alphys, Papyrus, and the rest of the representatives elected to fade into the background instead of stopping them.

Sans, meanwhile, ignored them all. He glanced back at Frisk, waiting for her to say something. To react. To move at all.

Sans checked on her soul for what was perhaps the twentieth time since last night, making sure it was still running, still determined. It wasn’t just a power humans had, it was their lifeline, the driving force that kept them running. Humans needed determination to survive.

It took him a moment – not long enough to be worrying – to find it, the small flash of red swimming through her essence like a tiny, nervous fish. Good. It was there, at least, just hiding. But it was probably buried so deep she couldn’t even feel it anymore.

The useless arguing probably wasn’t doing her any good.

Just as Sans was about to snap at Undyne and Mr. Toad to shut up, Asgore beat him to it.

“ _Enough_ ,” he said sternly. So sternly, for such a normally cheerful monster, that both Mr. Toad and Undyne stopped their arguing completely, even though they must have barely heard his calm tone over their raised voices. “This isn’t helping.”

“Y-yes, of course,” said Mr. Toad, looking flustered. He seemed mildly embarrassed for letting this get out of hand. “I’m sorry, everyone.”

“Me too,” said Undyne, after a light nudge from Alphys. “You’re right, Asgore. We came here to talk, not fight. We need to put our heads together.”

“We cannot let her hurt anyone else,” Mr. Toad affirmed, their arguments already forgotten. Monsters really were different from humans. They could get angry, sure, but not hateful. Not vengeful.

Aside from himself, of course.

But there were good reasons for that.

Discussion began once more. Undyne launched into battle plans, an area she was most fluent in. No one argued with her when she suggested they form a small team of their best fighters to take Chara on the next time she attacked. Of course they didn’t; they didn’t know about resets.

Well, Toriel did. Almost. But she didn’t know enough about them to really understand that killing the anomaly wasn’t an option.

Sans could have tried explaining it to them. He could have told them that anything they could do was probably not going to work. But he’d let enough people down by revealing the bigger picture, back when he still didn’t understand just how powerless he was. Telling people about the resets only let them down, destroyed their hope, and there was little enough of that as it was. Why should he drag anyone else down to his level of apathy?

Besides, even if they did understand resets, they wouldn’t be able to help him anyways. Asgore was the only other monster that even remembered Gaster, and none of them knew about the VOID. Not even Alphys.

Like most things, this was something he would have to fix on his own.

“Papyrus,” said Undyne, “I know you’re not into the whole… hurting people thing. So how about you stay in Snowdin, keep an eye out for any trouble. Make sure everyone’s safe, and call one of us immediately if something happens. Can you do that?”

Papyrus smiled at that, and nodded. He’d been sitting there quietly because, like Frisk, he still didn’t think Chara was hopeless. He didn’t like the idea of having to hurt her, much less having to kill her. Taking that pressure off of him was a really great thing for Undyne to do. Sans would have to remember to thank her later.

Neither Frisk nor Papyrus seemed to want to bring their opinions up, though, especially not after last night. Chara killed a child just to make a point, leaving them broken and bloodied and nearly destroying Frisk’s spirit for it.

It would be near impossible to even utter the word MERCY.

The conversation resumed, and Sans’ attention once again drifted back to Frisk. He wanted so badly to hold her, just like she’d let him do back at her place, and again last night. He’d grown fairly close to her over the years, but before that day he’d kept his distance. He didn’t allow himself to get too attached, because he was certain that as soon as he started caring, as soon as he allowed himself to hope, he would look into her eyes and see Chara’s.

Just then, Frisk finally moved for the first time since sitting down in this room. She looked up from her porcelain safety, her eyes coming to rest on him. He offered a smile, and despite herself, despite everything that happened last night, despite crying her throat raw because of it, she smiled back.

The little red fish of her determination twitched within her soul.

Now though, Sans knew the only person inside of her was herself. Just Frisk. The girl who always found the time to smile, even when she was in pain.

“Sans,” said Asgore suddenly, reigning in his attention. “You must continue with your plan to teach Frisk the ways of magic. We know she can use it now, and it is imperative that she learn to control it. Only a human can match Chara’s strength.”

Asgore paused, glancing over at Frisk. He sounded miserable as he spoke.

“She is… our best chance. Our only weapon.”

They all followed Asgore’s gaze, staring at what they believed was their only real chance at defeating Chara.

Despite the tiny smile she’d given him moments before, she still looked like the most fragile thing in the world.

It was starting to bother him. Why was she so broken up by that kid’s death? It was pretty horrific, sure, but he knew for a fact she’d seen worse. She’d technically _done_ worse. People far more important to her had died in her arms, too many times to count, at her own hands. Not to mention she could just reload her last save file and bring the kid back.

A little while later, the meeting was over. Everyone had a mission of their own. Papyrus would stay in Snowdin, Alphys in Hotland, and Undyne in Waterfall. Toriel and Asgore would stay in the capital; Asgore in his castle and Toriel in the city. They would each have several monsters under their command, who would serve as guards and would keep the citizens safe. It would be harder now than it was when everyone was in the castle, but Asgore wouldn’t keep anyone here against their will.

Sans, of course, would teach Frisk how to control her magic. He didn’t object to it, since he was planning to do that anyways. What he wasn’t going to do, however, was sit around waiting for Chara to pick everyone off one by one.

It was as good a time as any to remind Chara what it’s like to be hunted.

He and Frisk were the only people left in the room. She still stared at her teacup.

After a while of neither of them moving to get up and leave, Sans finally broke the silence.

“You’ve seen worse,” he said, trying to be gentle.

“I have,” she responded quietly, her voice still hoarse. She looked up at him again. “In another timeline.”

Sans raised a questioning eyebrow.

“All of my memories,” she continued, “They all happened in another time, another place. They’re just as real we are, I know, but before last night I could tell myself they weren’t. I could pretend they were just bad dreams. Other me’s. Other you’s. I can’t pretend anymore.”

“Then why,” he asked, curious and more than a little upset that she was doing this to herself, that she was torturing herself needlessly. “Why don’t you just load your last save file?”

Her arms squeezed her knees tighter, her fingers digging into her legs like she was losing her sense of reality again, like she was trying to ground herself.

Like she was hoping this all really was just a bad dream.

She looked up at him, and there were tears in her eyes again. She didn’t look sad this time, though. She just looked lost, scared. The determination quivered within her soul. When she spoke, she sounded like a kid again, like she’d just come out of the door to the ruins for the first time. Like all that lay before her was unknown territory.

“I can’t _._ ”


	10. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A haunting song echoes down the corridor... Won't you play along?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait with this one, semester started up and my course load is fairly hefty. I'll continue working on updates of course but it will be slower.
> 
> By the way, I've got a writing blog now! gorillazobsessor.tumblr.com
> 
> (my regular one is feelin-good-in-the-inc)

**Chapter 10: Memory**

Despite what he’d like to tell himself, Sans did remember the very first time Frisk stepped out of the ruins as someone else. He remembered feeling cautious, unsure of the dead look in her eyes and the way her clothes looked ancient.

It took him a few encounters with her to realize that was because she was covered in monster dust.

At the time, Sans thought the most fear he’d ever felt at one time was when he watched Gaster fall into the CORE. The way his face had warped, contorted with the most harrowing combination of fear and pain.

Sans was wrong.

When Frisk came out different that very first time, killing everything in her way, looking bored and broken but at the same time ecstatic, like she couldn’t be more in her element decimating everyone in her path…

 _That_ was the first time Sans truly felt fear. But as he came to realize, it wouldn’t be his last.

A very long time ago, Sans feared death.

Monsters lived a long time, far longer than humans. It depended on the monster, of course, but from what he knew, the stronger the soul, the longer the life. He intended to live for a very long time, even with his Stats. His 1 HP meant nothing when he could simply teleport out of the way if someone tried to attack him. His 1 ATK meant nothing when he counteracted his attacker’s invincibility Stat.

The first time it was Chara, not Frisk, that exited the ruins, that hope was shattered. The first time he died, he didn’t know if he would come back. He’d experienced a few resets at that point, so he knew by then that the kid would pass him to fight Asgore, and it would be a matter of minutes before the world reverted, time and space shifted around him, and he would be back in Snowdin, waiting for Papyrus to call him out for patrol.

He didn’t know what would happen if he died.

It hurt, when she finally managed to kiss him with her blade, but it was nothing compared to the feel of his soul being torn apart when he’d found his brother’s dust. He’d collapsed, and pure terror had assaulted him. But he refused to let it show. He’d become an expert at hiding his emotions, and found that even on the brink of death he could force a smile on his face. He picked himself up off the floor, stretched his mouth into the easy grin that covered his face like a mask, and walked away. He never made it far. He reached out to Papyrus…

And then he was back in Snowdin.

She’d reset the timeline, gone back to where she’d fallen, and she would do it all over again. Sometimes it was Frisk. Sometimes it wasn’t. He never got around to asking her why she did it, why she always went back.

Maybe she didn’t have a reason. Still, he never asked.

Of course, that didn’t mean he didn’t want to know.

He stopped keeping track of the resets around the hundredth time. He no longer saw the point. By then he was sure he’d missed a few in the count anyway. Sometimes he didn’t remember when a reset happened, or he forgot to put his notes in the machine in his shed, and they were lost to time and space with the rest of his memories.

Shortly after that hundredth time, he’d stopped caring about death.

It still hurt when the knife found him, when his body scattered onto the golden tiles, but he no longer feared what came after, no longer feared the actual concept of leaving this mortal coil.

He thought he’d become immune to the deepest, darkest fear known to monsters and men. Instead, as he now realized, he’d only become immune to resets.

What he’d been experiencing, what he’d been feeling as his pain fell away and all of the magic within his soul fluttered out like a blown-out candle… that wasn’t death, not truly.

It wasn’t the end. It was the beginning.

And now, knowing what Frisk told him about her inability to save or load, if the end did come, another beginning was no longer guaranteed.

\---

Frisk followed him in silence. They were entering Waterfall, their footfalls thumping softly into the damp, dark earth as they walked. Water trickled around them, the sound echoing off of walls and faintly through the flowers.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

“How did you know about save files?” she asked. He almost stumbled, as if he’d forgotten she was there, but quickly righted himself and kept moving. He still hadn’t told her where they were going. “Or even about resets? I never told you.”

“There’s a lot of things you didn’t tell me,” he said, “Things I know regardless.”

There was a hint of venom in his voice that made her pause. He’d tried to hide it, but she knew him well enough to know when he was being serious. After all, it was such a rare occurrence.

Something twisted in her gut.

“Why are you angry with me?”

“I’m not angry.”

“Sans,” she said. She stopped walking. He didn’t. She called his name again. “Sans.”

He finally stopped, turned around.

“What?” he asked, not meeting her eyes.

“Why are you mad at me?”

He finally looked at her.

“I’m not mad at you.”

\---

And he meant it. He may be seething, but it wasn’t directed at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking away. She rubbed her arm, looking so ashamed. “But I’m not lying to you. I really can’t save.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said, but his heart wasn’t in it, because he wasn’t entirely convinced that was true. He knew she wasn’t doing it on purpose, but these things always had something to do with her. His very world revolved around the fallen humans. Their souls were the most powerful things here, and even after however many resets it’s been, they were shaping his world even still.

But he wasn’t going to remind her of that. It’d only make things worse.

The algorithms had changed. As far as he could tell, Frisk had never not been able to save before. He was confused, slightly terrified, mostly pissed, but he’d been so wrapped up in his own reactions that he hadn’t really worried about her own.

What was it like to have that power – to be able to undo death, to be able to make all the right choices because you know which ones are wrong – and then have it suddenly taken from you?

He checked her soul. The determination was still flickering faintly, cradled protectively in the core of her being. She was still very much alive, and he breathed out a sigh of relief.

They kept moving.

His feet were beginning to hurt from all the walking. He wasn’t used to it, and even if he was, slippers probably weren’t the best thing to go trekking with.

It couldn’t be helped, though. He wasn’t going to teleport now, when his magic was so unstable. Even when he was fighting _her_ , his magic was stable enough to use. At least during those times, he was fueled by rage, and it steadied him. He was feeling too many things to use it now.

He didn’t want to hurt her.

\---

As soon as they passed the great view of New Home, it begun to rain.

Or, at least, it was the Underground’s version of it. It wasn’t all that different from surface rain, Sans mused, though of course there was the whole lack-of-sky thing down here...

“How did you do it?” she asked as they trudged along the slightly muddy ground. Sans pulled up his hoodie to keep the droplets from falling into his eye sockets. The feeling of water sloshing around in his skull wasn’t a pleasant one.

“Do what?”

“Separate her soul from mine,” Frisk clarified. “You said you used the VOID, but I don’t know what that is.”

Sans tried not to bristle too much at what she probably thought was an innocent question. She was curious about the things she didn’t know, just as much as he was. But if she was going to be asking the hard questions, he would too.

“If I tell you,” he said, “You have to answer one of my questions.”

“Fair enough.”

He looked over his shoulder at her, reading her to make sure she wasn’t lying to him. Of course she wasn’t, and he immediately felt terrible for doubting her. Frisk rarely ever told lies. That was a trait belonging to the other one. Ever since they’d been separated, the only lies Frisk told were the ones she had to tell, the one that kept everyone in the dark about things they both agreed they should definitely be in the dark about.

He wondered briefly if killing wasn’t the only thing Chara could make Frisk do.

Maybe she could even make her feel things she wouldn’t normally feel...

He shuddered.

“We were fighting,” he began, continuing their trek. They passed a lone echo flower, and it began whispering his own words back to him. “As we always do, in the end. After a while, my attacks became slower and slower. I was so tired, Frisk. Tired of _trying_. I began to wonder… if I gave the anomaly what they wanted, maybe they’d let you come out for the next reset. I tried sparing you, knowing she wouldn’t take the bait. I was expecting the knife. I wasn’t planning on dodging.”

Sans stopped walking. It was quiet for a moment, and he could hear the distant echo of haunting melody. That statue she liked must be close by.

“But nothing happened.”

He turned to face her. She met his eyes.

“You were shaking,” he said, staring at her in wonder, as if the memory still confounded him. “The knife was held over your head, so it was obvious she was trying to attack, but you... _refused_.”

\---

_Circle, up, right, circle, down, down, right…_

The memory came back to her, aided by the music that emanated from the statue.

She’d never given up – every swing of her knife, every time she robbed terrified shopkeepers of their money and goods, Frisk would try to hold back, try to flex muscles that no longer answered to her in the hopes that she may spare someone, that she might give someone enough time to run.

Chara wasn’t lying when she said she’d slowed her down, but Frisk had never actually taken control back like that before, not for long, never long enough to notice.

“Chara won out, eventually,” he said, “But I didn’t care. You showed me you were still in there, kid. You were still fighting her, after everything she’d made you do, after all the resets. I’d given up, but you never did.”

“I have determination on my side.”

“It’s a lot more than that,” Sans said softly, and the way his smile lifted, the way his eyes softened as he watched her, almost reverently, it filled her with…

Well, something _warm_.

Something, for once, that was distinctly _not_ determination.

For a moment, his gaze twitched down to her chest, to the area she knew her soul to reside. He coughed, a faint blush rising to his cheeks, and turned to continue walking.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I sorta… called up an old friend of mine. Gaster, the former royal scientist. Before, when I still thought I had a fighting chance, I’d asked him to look into the anomaly, to see if he could do anything about ending the cycle of resets. He’s… not exactly on the same plane of existence as you and me. At least, not most of the time. It comes with plenty of disadvantages, but also, as it turns out, a few perks.”

Frisk had a strange sense that she knew who he was talking about, but even with all of her memories returned, she couldn’t piece it together. Perhaps Sans had mentioned this mystery man before, but she had a feeling she’d never actually met Gaster.

“One of them being that he has access to save files,” he said. “Well, sorta. He has this… sense for them. They don’t really exist in one place, at one time. See, time and space are like that. They’re not linear and…”

Sans stopped himself.

“Well, anyway…” he continued. “It was his idea to destroy all of the save files. If they didn’t exist, he reasoned, the anomaly couldn’t reload. And if she couldn’t reload, she wouldn’t come back. There was only one problem with that plan. He couldn’t promise me _you_ would come back.”

That warm feeling bloomed in her chest again. It was like a tiny explosion, a harmless yet powerful burst of energy. She couldn’t put a name to it, but she liked it nonetheless.

_Circle, up, right, circle, down, down, right…_

“I wouldn’t have minded,” Frisk told him softly, “If it meant no more suffering…”

“I know,” he said, refusing to meet her eyes. “That’s why I wouldn’t do it.”

Frisk ground her teeth together. She knew she should be flattered. He valued her life above all others because she was a good person, because she didn’t hurt innocent people. Because if given the chance to keep an entire race of peaceful, sentient beings safe from evil at the expense of her own life, she’d do it in a heartbeat.

As if that made her a saint.

To her, it was just common sense. And it infuriated her that it was for that very reason he hadn’t done it.

\---

“You put me above everyone else,” Frisk said quietly.

Anyone else might have sounded conflicted. Even a decent person who doesn’t want to hurt anyone would have thanked the monster who spared them – even at the expense of others – but Frisk had always been far more than just a decent person.

So instead, she sounded pissed.

Sans chanced a glance at her soul. It cracked and hissed like a wildfire, thrashing with energy.

Yep. Definitely pissed.

It was the quiet kind, like when Toriel found out Frisk had gotten hurt from playing too roughly with others. It was a calm anger, one that could fester if the offender didn’t apologize properly. Of course, for people like Frisk and Toriel, it never festered into anything more than stern glares and tight lips.

The most dangerous anger, placed in the kindest of hearts.

“I did,” Sans agreed finally, “But when I saw what you did in the judgement hall, I realized how hard you’d been working to stop her, every step of the way. I realized, if you knew I had an option that could save everyone, but I wasn’t jumping on the chance for selfish reasons, you’d despise me. You would tell me… well, you’d tell me what you told me just now. That it was worth the risk.”

A silence stretched between them, filled only with gentle echoes from distant waterfalls. He wondered if – despite the now gentle, swaying flames of her soul – he hadn’t managed to apologize correctly.

“I could never despise you,” she said, and there was another flare in her soul. But this time it was like a flicker of a candle. Soft, delicate, warm.

He wondered if she could feel the power in her own soul, now that she’d awakened her magic. Whether she could sense the way that it was alive, always burning like the most determined fire, and how every little thing she thought and felt changed the way her flames danced.

Guilt found him in the form of a blush. He felt like some kind of creep, looking in on her innermost feelings like that. He didn’t know why he should, though. All monsters could see each other this way, could sense the presence of each other’s souls and what they were feeling. Of course, staring directly at someone’s soul was a bit like staring directly into the sun. The only exceptions were close friends and family members. They were the only ones who could look at your soul and see it as something other than a blinding light.

He wasn’t too surprised he could see hers so clearly – after all, she was one of his greatest friends, and he could look into the souls of Alphys and Undyne just as easily – but he wondered if she would be able to see his.

Or if she’d only see a rage of blue that burned her eyes.

He really should get around to telling her about all this. He felt guilty for keeping it from her, but he’d tell her soon enough. She’d probably ask about the new sensations when he finally started teaching her magic, and he wouldn’t be able to avoid it then.

They continued on their way, reaching the short hallway containing the strange statue she liked so much. She paused when they came up to it, and he waited patiently as she reached out to stroke the worn stone. The umbrella she’d left years ago had been eaten away by the constant dripping of water from the ceiling of this section of the cavern. She frowned at it, and then began walking back the way they’d come.

“So,” she continued, “How does one destroy a save file?”

“Hell if I know,” he answered, following her. He knew by now to let her wander without questioning her motives. She rarely answered anyways. “That part was up to Gaster. All I had to do was destroy a save point.”

“Why?”

“It corrupted the file,” he said, “It trapped her in the place between life and death, the only place Gaster can hold his form indefinitely. The VOID. She couldn’t reach her save file. She couldn’t reload. Maybe, if she’d been studying it for years like Gaster had, she would have known how to manipulate it. How to form something from nothing, without expending any energy. She would have known how to travel across distances infinitely vast, infinitely small, and she would have found a way to come back.”

Frisk was staring at a bucket of umbrellas, her face betraying nothing and her soul just as quiet. Even though he could sense everything she felt now, she was still incredibly skilled at suppressing them.

“And then she did,” she said softly, picking out a blue umbrella. They began walking back toward the statue.

“I don’t know how she did it,” he told her. “It took years for Gaster to start popping back into existence. And then more to figure out how to control it. He’s still tethered to that place, and what little time he manages to spend here is… agonizingly difficult to maintain. He can barely hold a physical form, and usually won’t unless you’re looking directly at him. He probably wouldn’t try to be corporeal at all if he still had his voice…”

“He’s mute?” asked Frisk, and Sans cocked his head for a moment before he could put meaning to her words.

Frisk had only talked years after the resets stopped. He remembered her telling him about this. About how, even before she fell, she wasn’t much of a talker. When she first woke in that bed of flowers, nothing but a small, broken child, she’d found herself in a new world full of strange creatures she’d never seen before, most of whom were trying to kill her.

It made her even less of a talker.

“Yeah,” Sans confirmed.

Frisk hummed thoughtfully. She reached up to replace the tattered orange umbrella with the new blue one. The music coming from within the statue continued, and it didn’t stop.

She listened to it for a while, humming along to the tune. He watched her hands tap against her jeans in time with the melody.

“How did you destroy the save point?” she asked after a moment. They continued walking. “I didn’t know it was possible to destroy them.”

“Heh, neither did I,” he said, “In the end, it didn’t really get destroyed. But it did corrupt her file, and that was all I cared about. It was in the judgement hall. I’d lost count of how many times I killed her, but one of those times, before she could come back, I summoned my blasters and they attacked it with everything they had.”

“Blasters,” Frisk echoed, “Oh, you mean those pet skulls you have? I like them, they’re very sweet.”

The blasters had killed her so many times. Their beams were made of pure energy, and Sans didn’t think he could imagine the pain it must have inflicted on her whenever she hadn’t managed to dodge.

And she thought they were sweet.

He thought back a week, to when he’d battled Chara in Snowdin. He’d summoned three blasters, and only two had attacked as he commanded. The third stayed back to protect Frisk from stray beams, as if it knew Sans wasn’t being as careful as he should have been with his aim.

And despite the battle, despite seeing exactly what this beast could do, she’d pet it like a good dog and giggled, absolutely ecstatic, when the blaster had nuzzled its massive body (which of course was just its head) against her own in farewell as it was called away.

Though Sans was happy it had, he still wondered why that blaster had disobeyed his orders.

But that was a question for another time, and not one Frisk could answer anyway, so he figured he’d offer another. One he’d been meaning to ask for such a long time that it made him apprehensive of the answer.

They entered a small room near the hall with the statue. Within it was a piano, covered in a layer of rock dust and tiny shards of gemstones that must’ve fallen from the cave walls. Frisk pulled one of her sleeves to cover her hand and used it to sweep off most of the residue.

There was no chair to sit on, so she knelt in front of the ancient instrument instead.

“I used to be so small,” she said. The smile on her face was bright. He could feel her nostalgia from here.

“You’re still pretty short,” he said with a wink. He was shorter than her now, so she knew he was only teasing.

She chuckled and brought her hands up to rest upon the old keys. As soon as her fingers touched the ivory, she began to play the tune from down the hall. Sans smiled, watching her fingers dance. It was almost enough to lull him to sleep.

But then a thought occurred to him.

She only had to listen to the tune for a few seconds before she could expertly play it out on the piano. He’d never heard her play any other songs on any other instruments before.

She wasn’t a musician. She’d simply committed this song to muscle memory. How many times had she solved this puzzle?

How many times had she reset to play it over again?

“My turn,” he reminded Frisk. “I answered your question, you answer mine.”

“Of course.” She stopped playing to give him her full attention.

He took a deep breath, thanked the stars Frisk didn’t understand her new power enough to read his soul with much accuracy or precision.

“Why did you keep resetting?” he asked. Frisk’s face paled. “No matter the run, the timeline, the ending… It always came back. We were happy, kid.” As he said it he realized how accusatory he sounded, but he couldn’t stop himself. It felt _justified_ , this frustration, this anger. Why had it taken him so long to really realize, to really process just how much he blamed her for all of his suffering? “We’d all make it to the surface. We’d see the sky and feel true wind and learn about everything we’d missed, and everything we were going to see. And then…”

He looked at her, and he knew she was trying so hard to mask it, but even her soul couldn’t keep it hidden. She looked absolutely heartbroken.

“You took it all away,” he finished, and immediately he wished he hadn’t. As the last word fell from his mouth Frisk closed both of her eyes, gathered tears finally fell onto her cheeks.

He watched her bitterly as her gaze turned downward. His mind was waging a silent war against itself. Half of him wanted to comfort her, to apologize for placing blame on her, but the other half of him wanted her to confess her sins, to pay for what she’s done.

“About ninety percent of the time,” she said, “I didn’t want to reset. It was as you said – we’d get to the end; we’d break the barrier. I would go to bed at night hoping, praying that I would wake up in that bed the next day. So many times, when I woke again, I’d be surrounded by golden flowers. And everyone would be trapped here, longing for a freedom they didn’t even know they’d already tasted.”

She reached one of her hands up to tuck a stray tuft of her hair behind one ear, still refusing to meet his eyes.

“But I did have control over a few of them,” she admitted, and Sans tried not to grind his teeth too hard for fear she’d hear him seething. “The ones where Chara was too focused on one of the harder fights, and I could slip past her mental barriers and reset, so that everyone would be alive again, and I had another chance to fight her for control.”

She finally looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, but there was that look on her face again. That determination thing – really, it’s just another word for _stubborn_ – she seemed to live and breathe.

“I can save, load, and yes, I can reset,” she told him. Her voice was solid, firm, but there wasn’t the slightest hint of malice. “But Sans, I _promise_ you, whenever we made it out alive, whenever everyone got to see the surface again, only to have it all taken away without any memory of it… That wasn’t me.”

So, she’d only used resets to save people that Chara killed, and apparently wasn’t intending to reset whenever she managed to get her ‘happy ending.’

She was just as trapped as he.


	11. Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention, I went back through all the chapters to change Chara's pronouns to they/them. I've been wanting to do this for a long time because I believe that while Frisk's gender is left to interpretation because they are presented at first as a self-insert character in the game, Chara is not. Chara is their own person and everyone uses they/them pronouns for them so I would like to do the same.
> 
> This doesn't change the story at all, only their gender is different. And perhaps a few words because I messed up at one point but the story is still the same!
> 
> I hope this doesn't bother anyone. Feel free to leave a comment if it does.
> 
> Also, I'd like to hear you guys' opinion on something. Longer chapters take longer to write, so I could continue as I am now with updates more spaced out, or I could try to stick to smaller chapters and update faster. The choice is yours, just make sure to voice it! 
> 
> Without further ado, here's Chapter 11: Power.

**Chapter 11: Power**

And so, with one of his bigger questions answered, another took its place: if Frisk wasn’t the one resetting, who was?

“Chara,” he guessed out loud.

“Seems like such an easy answer, doesn’t it?” Frisk asked cryptically, “But I don’t think it’s them. I can’t imagine why she would.”

Sans could. Chara was ruthless, just as Frisk said, but they were also quite a bit more than that. Soulless, cruel, sadistic, to name just a few of the demon’s  _ wonderful _ qualities. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were the one resetting, if only so they could kill everyone over and over again.

Besides, when he’d first dunked Chara into oblivion years ago, the resets had stopped.

“If not Chara then who?” Sans pressed, because he knew she wouldn’t sit for another lecture about her putting too much faith in that creature.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. She picked herself up off the floor beside the piano and they both continued on their original path.

\--------

“Why would you protect something like Chara?” Sans asked her. “Why do you believe in them so much?”

Maybe she  _ was _ being too forgiving, she thought. Maybe she really was the idiot Flowey thought her to be, but she didn’t care. She didn’t think it was right for Sans to call Chara a  _ thing _ . For her  _ mother _ to call them a thing.

Frisk had lived through plenty of timelines, and not all of them were as monotonous as they first seemed. People reacted differently to different stimuli, they made different choices, formed different opinions about you based on your actions.

And yet.

Papyrus always spared her.  _ Always _ .

Even when she approached him covered in dust. In fact, he was even  _ quicker _ to spare her those times.

Because he believed everyone could be good if they tried. And Frisk believed that too.

“Someone has to,” she said. Then, when she saw her answer didn’t satisfy him, she sighed and continued. “They were better, you know. Before the deal.”

“What deal?” he asked, and she’d forgotten she hadn’t told him that in this timeline.

“In the beginning,” she started, “Near the very first time I fell, Chara was… different. They weren’t exactly friendly, but they weren’t cruel either. They were… a friend. At least, that’s how I saw it. I never asked them if they felt the same way. They even helped me, told me the names of the monsters I was pulled into battle with, even told me their Stats.

“I don’t remember what happened to make them change, but I remember asking them. I asked them so many times why they were doing it, and then I guess I finally annoyed them enough because they answered me. It was just this fleeting comment, something to get me to shut up and let them concentrate, but it stuck with me. They said, ‘You made the deal, human. Stop complaining; you did this to yourself.’

“I had no idea what they were talking about, and I still don’t.

“Their voice got louder. She became more distant, less patient. Before, it felt like they were holding onto me, like I was carrying them around. After this deal, it felt like we were both just  _ stuck _ with each other. It was like they became their own being.

“And the things they wanted to do with their new power… I couldn’t let them get away with it. I knew everything would just reset at the end, that the people they were killing weren’t going to stay dead, but I didn’t care. If I could stop them, even just for one run, I would.

“But throughout the whole thing,” Frisk finished, “I never stopped believing that they could do the right thing. I know you think it’s blind faith, Sans. I know you think it’s childish, but at least now you can understand why I see something in them, right?”

She stopped walking again to make sure he was looking at her.

“So, to answer your question,” she said, “I protect them because I’m the only one who can. They need someone to remind them of the good person they used to be.”

\--------

Sans inwardly groaned.

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her. Though her statement seemed to border on arrogance, there was truth in it. Sans didn’t believe Chara could be saved, but if they could, Frisk was certainly the only one who could do it.

Besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t believe her about Chara once being good. They were the adoptive child of the royal family, the first fallen human, and consequently the first human that monsters had seen since their banishment. It was their kind that had trapped them here, yet they’d loved Chara instantly.

Sans knew them, back when they were alive. Back when they were still human, albeit a very broken, sad one. If he really wracked his brain, he could even dig up a memory or two of a time when he actually cared about the kid.

They weren’t as sweet as Frisk, not as quick to put their trust in others. In fact, other than their initial quiet, shy disposition, Chara really hadn’t been anything like Frisk. They were more mischievous, more of a troublemaker. They were a fan of pranks, and Sans was happy to teach them his ways, but they could come up with some fairly cruel ones, if left to their own devices.

And Frisk had to realize that what the resets had done to Chara, because look what they’d done to  _ him _ . Chara had been broken from the start. Sans had a strong feeling – and when it came to reading souls, he was seldom wrong – that when Chara fell, the monsters down here were among the first people to show them kindness.

Sans was no saint, but he wasn’t heartless, and despite what he’d like to tell himself, he really did understand why Frisk was on Chara’s side. Their opinions about Chara didn’t differ – there was no question that Chara had once been human, which meant that at least one point in time, they had the capacity to feel compassion and love – until it came down to what they should do about them now.

Where Sans saw revenge and justice, Frisk saw MERCY and redemption.

Frisk had a beautiful soul. She was full of MERCY and acceptance and truly believed that everyone had the capacity to change. Sans was a scientist. He believed in experimentally determined results, and for years – for  _ decades _ worth of resets – Chara had proven to him that they no longer had that capacity.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he told her, and he hated how he could feel his eye sockets grow cold as the lights left them. He marched on, not waiting to see if she followed, because he knew she always would. “I just don’t believe that.”

To his surprise, she didn’t try to persuade him otherwise. Maybe she finally realized, just as he had, that neither of them were going to change their minds about this any time soon.

“So,” she said, “We’re back on that question. If it’s not Chara, then who?”

“Another reason to talk to Gaster,” Sans answered. “He knows a lot more than he lets on. Maybe if you ask nicely he’ll tell you.”

\--------

So, that’s where they were headed.

Frisk wondered if Gaster had a home in Waterfall, and if so, how she’d never seen it.

“There’s a door just up ahead,” Sans explained, “Sometimes it exists. Most of the time it doesn’t. But don’t worry, I’ll find a time and place when and where it does, and I’ll take us there.”

Frisk stared at him blankly, thoroughly confused.

“C’mere, I’ll show you,” he said confidently, reaching out his hand for her to take. When she did, he stepped even closer to her, wrapping his arms around her like it was the easiest thing in the world. “It’s just a hop, skip…”

The world spun, time slowing to a crawl and space no longer being filled. Something that was a lot like nothing blew her hair into tangles, like wind, and she was clinging to him and falling, falling…

And she heard his voice again, ringing through her brain as if she’d thought the words herself.

_ and _

_ a _

_ jump! _

They landed, but this time he held her close to him so she didn’t fall. His jacket was balled into her fists and she didn’t dare step away. She didn’t want to.

“Not that I’m against hugs,” he murmured, and his voice was so close she could feel it purr through his chest and into hers. She could feel his breath on her cheek, and it was  _ warm _ . “But there’s kind of a murderous lunatic on the loose and we should probably figure out a way to defeat her.”

Frisk let go of him, but not before double checking to make sure there was a ground beneath her feet.

“Funny,” she huffed at him, and she felt like her cheeks were on fire. She was no stranger to these feelings, though, and recovered fairly easily. “So where’s this-”

As she pulled away from him she noticed it. Where before there was a solid wall made of shimmering purple rocks and crystals, there now stood a door. It looked solid, ancient, and it was stark white. It looked… bleached, almost. Like rather than being painted white, the color had been leeched from the wood.

She had another one of those twinges in her brain, the kind she got when a new memory was about to surface. If she heard a particular sequence of words or actions, she’d get this feeling of déjà vu, and she’d know it had happened before in another time, in another place.

But though her brain insisted to her that she’d seen this door before, she couldn’t recall when she ever had. Reaching around in her head to pull out a memory yielded only emptiness, a void where there should be substance, should be  _ something _ because she  _ knew _ she’d been here before…

Her hand was already on the doorknob, twisting the ancient crystal that composed it within her palm until she heard the satisfying  _ click _ resound from within the lock’s inner mechanisms.

“Wait, Frisk-!”

Behind it was a white room, completely empty of substance of any kind. When she stepped into it, she knew her feet were touching some kind of floor because she wasn’t falling, but at the same time, she couldn’t actually feel her feet connecting to anything. The air smelled of nothing, there were no sounds, there was no time.

Frisk stood in the middle of the room for an eternity, for a fraction of a second, before someone’s hand pressed against her back. The feeling, suddenly there where once there was nothing, jolted her, and she turned to see Sans watching her carefully.

“I told you to wait,” he said, but it was gentle, soft, like he knew she wouldn’t be able to handle anything more than a whisper.

Suddenly all of her senses were filled with him. His hand still at her back, his smell – like Snowdin forest, with a touch of campfire, since he spent so much time with Grillby – and the sound of his voice. He was here, he was real, and therefore she had to be, too.

“He’s not here,” he continued. “He must be busy. We should head back home and-”

“Hey,  _ idiots _ .”

Sans stiffened at the voice, but to Frisk is was familiar, and in this strange room that was somewhere between something and nothing, everything that was familiar had become sacred. She instantly brightened, moving past Sans to greet her old friend. She knew it was stupid, dangerous even, to approach him when he was in this form, but it had just been so  _ long _ .

“Asriel,” she said.

\--------

_ Flowey _ , he thought.

Sans turned as Frisk moved past him, noticing that despite her excitement she was gripping the end of his jacket in a desperate fist. He was pulled along with her as she approached the flower, too lazy to resist.

The flower was waiting for her just outside the door, peering in with a hint of curiosity. Sans narrowed his eyes at the thing, and to his satisfaction it cringed away from him.

He barely remembered the thing. Strange tentacle-like vines gripping him and his friends tight, thorns digging into his bones painfully. A feeling of being pulled into something, a flash of white, and then the kid waking him up, along with everyone else the flower had attacked. Nothing had changed, the barrier wasn’t broken.

He couldn’t help but think it was the flower’s fault. Something had been different this time. Usually, they got to see the surface after that.

Frisk pulled them both out of Gaster’s room, and he closed the door behind them. She visibly relaxed the moment they were out of there. He’d have to keep that in mind; he didn’t know she’d be so affected by the inter-dimensional properties of that room.

“It’s been so long, Asriel.”

“Stop calling me that,” he snapped at her. “I’m not Asriel anymore.”

“Oh, right…” Frisk trailed off, sounding disappointed. She perked right back up a second later, though. “What are you doing here?”

The flower smiled cruelly, his features twisting into a familiar sneer.

“Just confirming what I thought,” he said, “There’s a new human in town, isn’t there?”

Sans narrowed his eyes. How did the flower know that?

“Not new,” Frisk answered, and Sans ground his teeth quietly in annoyance. Just how much trust was she willing to put into this creature? “Chara.”

Flowey didn’t seem too surprised.

“Tch, figures,” he said. Then, he smiled at Frisk again. “How’s it feel to no longer be in control?”

“What do you mean?” she asked. She didn’t seem affected by his attempts to agitate her. Either she didn’t notice, or she was expecting it from him, and could brush it off with ease. Probably the latter, Sans guessed. She was an expert at brushing things off.

“You can’t SAVE anymore, can ya?”

\--------

Frisk’s frown was all the answer Flowey needed.

“Now you know how I felt,” he said, eyes darkening, smile widening. He barred his fangs at her, but she paid it no mind. She knew he was harmless. “When you fell all those years ago, ripping my power away… I was excited at first, despite no longer being the god of this world. It was something different, after all. But then I realized how much I missed having that control. It felt so  _ good _ , being free to do anything without any real consequences. But you know all about that, don’tcha?”

Frisk said nothing. He was right. It was liberating to have a backup plan, able undo mistakes with her will alone. But she never wanted that power to abuse it. She wanted it to keep everyone safe, to make sure Chara wouldn’t have their way, if Frisk could help it.

“Why can’t I SAVE anymore?” she asked him after a moment, not bothering to dance around the subject. She wondered if he’d actually answer truthfully.

“You must have spent way too much time with this pathetic loser,” he smirked, nodding towards Sans, who raised an eyebrow, grin unwavering. “Because for some reason, you gave up.”

“I didn’t give-”

“No, you’re right,” he interrupted, looking up towards the ceiling in thought for a moment. “Giving up isn’t the right phrase. You just thought your fight was over, and all that power you’d had when you first fell down wasted away. Chara, on the other hand, had a  _ goal _ : getting out of that creepy dark place this idiot shoved them into. And you know what happens to humans when they’ve got something they want to  _ accomplish _ .”

She instantly knew he wasn’t lying, because his words triggered a memory.

_ I’ve read every book. I’ve burned every book. _

And then she fell to the Underground, and she inherited his power to SAVE.

_ I’ve won every game. I’ve lost every game. _

Because her determination was greater than his.

“I don’t have enough determination anymore,” she said in realization.

“That’s right! Your amount’s pretty pathetic,” he snarled, “Even without comparing it to theirs. It’s no wonder they’ve taken over. They’ve got  _ way _ more than you, now.”

Flowey laughed. It was a cruel, high-pitched maniacal laughter, filled with malice and a twisted sort of glee.

“I can’t wait to see what they’ve done with the place.”

“Wait, Flowey-”

But he was already gone, leaving nothing behind but a small patch of disturbed dirt and his laugh echoing in her mind. She told herself he’d be around, and whenever he decided to show himself again, she’d make sure to ask him.

If there was a way to defeat Chara without hurting them, Asriel would know. He was their brother, once, and though the both of them had been severely warped by time and circumstance, he had to at least know something Frisk didn’t about Chara, something that could help.

Would he tell her, if she asked him?

“So,” said Sans once Flowey was gone, “Whoever has the most determination gets to break time?”

Frisk nodded, about to tell him just how much Flowey had abused that power when it was his, but she thought better of it.

_ I’ve appeased everyone. I’ve killed everyone. _

“That’s the gist of it.”

\--------

She looked deep in thought, gently brushing her fingers along her lips as her mind worked.

It was adorable.

“He had the power before I did,” she explained, though Sans had already guessed as much. “But I was already attached to Chara as soon as I fell, so originally, I thought maybe it was the  _ combination _ of our determination that outweighed his. Yet when we were separated I could still SAVE, so perhaps I was more determined than both Chara and Flowey  _ separately _ …”

“And then she got dunked on,” Sans supplied helpfully, connecting the dots.

“And with nothing else to lash out at in the void, their wrath only grew stronger,” said Frisk. “They became more determined than I, so much so that they managed to figure out how to use human magic.”

So now they had a magic-using, determined sociopath with the power to RESET after they killed them so they could keep coming back and do it all over again.

_ Great. _

Sans’ own secret plan about how to deal with Chara was still in the works, but he wanted to see what Frisk was planning to do with this new – or perhaps,  _ old _ – information.

“So,” he asked, “What do we do now?”

“For now,” she answered, “I need more determination.”

Getting Frisk’s control over SAVEs back would only make his job harder. It’d be easier to kill Chara if they couldn’t come back without Frisk, but then he’d have to convince Frisk to leave them dead. That wasn’t going to happen, not with Frisk thinking of Chara as some lost child in need of a good hug.

At the same time, if she  _ could  _ SAVE, she could keep Chara from resetting every time they managed to defeat them. In the end, Frisk did need to be in control again, or else anything either of them did would be pointless.

For now, he had to keep her distracted with the magic idea. But of course, he couldn’t just disagree with Frisk. She’d know he was up to something. So for now, he had to keep her convinced that, while they both knew he didn’t think it could be done, that he  _ was _ on her side.

That he wasn’t plotting to kill the demon Frisk was trying to save.

“Sounds like a plan, kid,” he said, “But even if you can SAVE again, they’re not gonna just hand victory over to you. You still need to learn magic if you hope to stand a chance against them. Guess it’s time to put off putting it off and actually do my job for once, yeah?”

He winked for extra measure, and the warm smile she gave him made him feel disgusting for going behind her back like this. He told himself it was the only way, because he knew it was true, and that he was only doing what he’d been doing this whole time: lying for the sake of others.

Grinning all the while.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave a comment and/or kudos!


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